The Hardest Choice
by Macushla
Summary: While dealing with a situation in Africa, the Planeteers are pushed to their limits. Defeating dirty politics and personal struggles will demand more than they may be willing to give...
1. Chapter 1

The Hardest Choice

First fic. I guess I should spell out that these characters aren't mine…yadda yadda yadda.

Notes:

1. If you don't know about Darfur, please go to Human Rights Watch's site and find out.

2. The years have been condensed, so that 10 years have transpired in the span of five.

Chapter I

"You can see what they've been doing, what their intentions are."

Mfuto looked at the photos in his hands solemnly, shaking his head before passing them to Gi. "This is obviously not what the Chadian government expected when they received such a generous offer from the rich American."

Gi gasped softly as she flipped through photos. _Children_, she thought, _my God, children_.

Each photo was more disturbing than the last. Children covered in blood as they stood next to animal carcasses. The synopsis of the situation they received from Gaia was proving inadequate.

The refugee camp had been harsh enough on the Planeteers' sensibilities. Hundreds and hundreds of Sudanese, crammed into make-shift huts and lean-tos. Old men with their eyes sunken in so that their faces resembled skeletons. Young women, many only teenagers, carrying tiny babies as several other children clung to them, wailing for food. All the stronger adults had stayed behind in Darfur to fight the Janjaweed. Left to roam like nomads were the old, the young, the infirm, and the mothers.

A little boy, his belly bloated with disease, had died in the camp last night. He had died holding Gi's hand.

The involvement of Luten Plunder in the situation was incendiary. A match tossed into the powder keg that was the refugee situation.

Gi handed the photos quickly to Linka and looked away. As Linka flipped through, Wheeler peered over her shoulder. "And what did Plunder promise? I mean, he obviously didn't say he was gonna enslave these kids and force them to skin lions for pelts."

Mfuto again shook his head, his large gold earrings catching the sunlight. "We have been inundated with refugees from Darfur. Many, many children. No one knew what to do. Then Plunder said he would hire some people to help his business. Everyone wanted the chance to work for the rich American. We need money so badly…"

He trailed off and looked up at the sound of Ma-Ti retching.

"Poor kid," muttered Wheeler. It had been almost five years – since their early days as Planeteers – since Ma-Ti's stomach had been turned by brutality. It used to happen frequently. He glanced at the younger man as he rejoined the group. _Nice to see we haven't all gotten immune to it._

"Plunder wanted the children," Mfuto continued. "He said that their small fingers would be able to salvage more fur."

"Like a sweatshop, where children are hired to do work in very small spaces," offered Kwame.

"Exactly," said Gi, jumping to her feet. "And sweatshops thrive where there is poverty and lack of government regulation."

"That is Chad," Mfuto said sadly, "Parents were jumping at the chance to let their children work for Plunder. Not only is he paying them a little money, but it also reduces the strain on refugee camp resources." He pursed his lips. "You may find that there are many Sudanese refugees still supporting Plunder, despite the kind of work these children are forced to do."

"Bozhe moy," breathed Linka, "what a situation." The world had certainly become more complicated since they joined the Planeteers. In a strange way, she longed for the days when the world was split into two superpowers. Much less complicated, despite the constant threat of nuclear war.

"You can say that again, babe, " Wheeler chimed in. "So what's the move? We go in there and shut him down, bring the kids back, and give Plunder a taste of what he and his buddies have done to those lions?"

Kwame shook his head. "It would start a riot, Wheeler. These people are depending on Plunder right now. They will defend him."

"So we just sit here on our asses?"

"Of course not, Yankee," said Linka, annoyed. "But we will need some way to bring this to world attention. What they need are NGOs to provide resources to wean people away from Plunder. He will not survive here if he is discredited."

"Right," said Kwame. He turned to Ma-Ti, whose face still retained some pallor from his reaction to the photos. "How far away is Plunder, Ma-Ti?"

Ma-Ti's dark eyes closed as he concentrated. "Heart," he said softly. The fuzzy image of Plunder near a river basin appeared in his mind. "He is at the river basin, loading pelts onto an airplane." His face grew angry as his eyes opened. "I think he was smoking a cigar. Happily. He is a monster."

"We need reconnaissance," said Kwame. "We need to get pictures of his entire operation without tipping him off.

Gi sighed . "Well, that rules out the Geo-Cruiser. He could see that a mile away,"

"I could lead you," said Mfuto. "I know where the basin is. If we head out now, we could camp across the river and make it to the basin in the morning.

Wheeler nodded. "Sounds good. Let's go."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer on Chapter 1

Notes:

1. It's Troy Polamalu. Number 43. He plays defense for my boys, the Super Bowl Champion Pittsburgh Steelers. Byaa!

Chapter II

As the group trudged through their umpteenth jungle, Ma-Ti couldn't help but observe the closeness they had all developed over the past five years. There were changes – they were all growing up, after all – but the comfort among them was palpable.

Kwame had truly emerged as a leader. He now stood over six feet tall, and his physical presence added to his quiet confidence. Kwame could get pensive, sometimes isolating himself from his friends. Right now, however, he was clearly in his element; the Chadian jungle was similar to the one in his native Kenya.

Gi bounded behind him, as always, full of energy. At age twenty-one, she retained a cuteness and vitality that could only be defined as spunky, and her short hair accentuated this disposition. She was also re-embracing her Thai heritage and had been communicating with home more frequently. In fact, Ma-Ti seemed to recall a boy named Kim coming up in conversations on more than one occasion.

Wheeler had changed very little. Despite adding inches to his height and muscle to his weight, he remained much like the jovial teenager he had been when they met. Maybe a little tamer, Ma-Ti reflected, given the anti-Americanism that they had encountered recently. He remembered an exasperated Wheeler shouting, "Hey, you think _I_ voted for the guy?"

Right now, he was gleefully poking Linka with a twig he had found.

Linka had chosen to immerse herself in study. It was as if she wanted to show the world that she did not intend to take the easy road by getting by on her looks. Which were, Ma-Ti admitted, more spectacular than ever. He could hardly blame Wheeler's constant attention on the girl. And given such attention, Ma-Ti found it shocking that they two still hadn't figured out how to move forward in a relationship.

Five years. _Five years ago I was only a child_, he recalled. He was still on the short side, but lots of exercise from eco-emergencies had grown muscles on him. He was wearing his hair long now and Wheeler had jokingly called him 'Polamalu', after an American football player he apparently resembled.

Ma-Ti's thoughts trailed off as Mfuto led the group towards a ravine. "We go down to the river from here," he said. The cliff before them dropped off suddenly to a ledge of jagged rocks. At least 800 meters below flowed the slow-moving river, winding its way through the Chadian jungle. "We will camp on the other bank then follow the river to the basin in the morning. It will be best to get the jump on Plunder first thing in the morning when he is least aware."

Linka looked over the edge to the river below. It was a long, long way down. "How exactly do we get down there?"

Mfuto smiled at the blonde. "We have a system," he said. With that, he walked over to a nearby tree and pulled a strap with two handles from a branch. "If you look carefully, there is a cord that runs from this tree across the river. We use these," he gestured to the strap, "to slide down it."

"No way!" exclaimed Wheeler, "we get to zip cord down there?" He grinned, "That is possibly the most awesome thing we've ever gotten to do!"

"What about saving those Asian elephants?" asked Ma-Ti.

"And shutting down that hazardous waste dump near the Ganges?" asked Gi. "We must have saved 5000 people!"

"Da, and being present when Kyoto was signed. Not that _your_ country agreed to it, Yankee…"

"And watching the penguins in Antarctica? And going to Carnivale? And…"

"Well…yeah," interrupted Wheeler. "But…zip cording! Man, that's cool!"

Mfuto demonstrated, sailing down the rope and letting go over the deep water. Gi followed, hitting the water gracefully. Kwame and Ma-Ti were clumsier, but their laughter echoed up the ravine, attesting to their safe landing.

Linka slung her strap over the cord. She bit her lip and looked back at Wheeler, who was standing right behind her. "I do not know about this, Wheeler."

Wheeler smiled as he looked into her nervous green eyes. "You saw them all go, babe. It's easy."

"But it is so far…"

"Look," he reached up and placed his hands over hers, "You just hold on tight here, an then…" he let his hands trail down the outside of her arms and sides before resting his fingers on her hips, "…you let your legs carry you down. Got it?"

The heat from her blush was intense, and Wheeler knew he'd struck a nerve. Emboldened by a lack of response, he wrapped his arms around her. Their friendship had grown much stronger through the years, despite their frequent squabbling. They had become closer in every way but the physical, and that was usually ok with him. But sometimes, he thought, feeling her warm body pressed against him, not so much.

Linka had been surprised by his affectionate display, and even more surprised at the warmth that uncoiled itself in her stomach over it. She caught herself before unexpectedly doing something uncharacteristic. "Da, I got it," she snapped, pulling his arms from her waist. She pushed away from him and rushed into her descent. As she sailed down, her mind molded itself to the memory Wheeler's hands on her hips, his breath on her neck. The thought was disruptive to her equilibrium and her hands felt sweaty. "_Der'mo_!" she cursed, her arms growing unsteady.

Once over the water, her hands slipped loose and she fell at an awkward angle. She hit the water with a hard smack and felt the breath forced from her body. "_Idiota_!" she chided herself silently. "_Shto ti delala_?"

After she emerged and regained some composure, she saw the others looking at her with concern. "Linka, are you ok?" asked Ma-Ti.

"Fine," she shot back, her face red with embarrassment. She took a quick inventory and decided that nothing had been hurt in the fall. Except, of course, her pride. _This is all Wheeler's fault…_

Her thoughts trailed off as Wheeler splashed down nearby. He broke the surface and swam nearer to her. "Hey babe, what happened out there? Are you ok?"

His dark red hair was dripping river water as his light blue eyes reflected concern and, Linka surmised, probably a hint of amusement. She closed the distance between them. "This is your fault, Wheeler!" Then, more quietly, "How dare you!"

"What?"

"Why would you touch me like that? Did you not think it would disrupt my balance? Bozhe moy, you could have killed me!"

"Come on, Linka," he said in irritation, "You're fine. You just hit the water a little funny, and…"

"What made you think you could do that to me?" She was face to face with him now, glaring defiantly at him.

The others watched the scene silently. Mfuto looked concerned, but Kwame shook his head.

"Well," sighed Gi, "the proverbial shit was bound to hit the fan at some point."

"Is everything alright?" asked Mfuto.

Gi cast a look back at the pair, who were locked in a glare-off. "They'll either kill each other or kiss each other. Either way, we should probably set up camp and leave them to it."

"So you falling was my fault?" Wheeler was asking, incredulously.

"Da, _konyeshno_, Yankee. Of course it is. You should not have touched me like that!"

"Look, Linka, if my touching you has that much of an effect on you, then we really should have a talk."

She turned away, spitting a Russian expletive.

"Don't turn away from me, babe. We need to talk." He grabbed her by the shoulder and was rewarded with a splash of water in the face. "Hey!"

She held his angry gaze and then looked down at the circles in the water forming as droplets fell from her eyelashes. "I think," she said evenly, "that you should be leaving me alone. You are a distraction to me and I do not appreciate it."

"I distract _you_!" Wheeler's eyes widened at the incredible nature of her statement. "Bullshit, Linka! You want to know what distraction is? Distraction is trying to do this goddamn job, which is tough enough, while you've got a raging hard-on for the girl standing next to you!"

Linka grimaced. "That is disgusting. We are through with this conversation."

He stared at her for what seemed like an eternity. "Yeah. I think we're through with a lot of stuff, babe." He began swimming towards the campsite.

Linka continued treading water for a minute. "_Khorosho_," she said quietly, trying to hold onto her angry feeling as long as she could, but they morphed into a mildly nauseous sensation in the pit of her stomach. She swam towards shore, letting the river catch the odd tear from her eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

Luten Plunder fingered the pile of new pelts as they were loaded onto his truck. The haul was good today – five full-grown lions and two cubs. The cubs produced less fur, but of a softer texture. For the discerning consumer, obviously.

He smoothed his hand over the top pelt. Nice quality, soft texture…

"What is this?" he asked. "Bleak, get your ass over here."

Argos Bleak finished his bite of meat and wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist. A bone worked its way to the front of his mouth and he spat it out, crushing it beneath his boot. "That bastard better have a good reason for interrupting me," he muttered.

Plunder was drumming his fingers on the pelt as Bleak ambled over to him. "Who was in charge of this pile, Bleak? Was it the 9-year-olds or the 10-year-olds? I know it was one or the other because the younger ones have been handling the cubs and this stack is all adults."

Bleak ran his hand over his bald head as he surveyed the pile. "Aah, the 10-year-olds, I think. Those little buggers who conned the men into giving them extra bread. They was working on the bigger cats yesterday."

"Well, we'll just see how well they work without bread tonight," Plunder scowled. "Look at this. There are bullet fragments in this pelt. The whole reason I'm giving my hard-earned pennies to these brats is that I expect them to clear out all the shrapnel. All of it." He turned quickly. "I'm heading over to the work area. Bleak, continue loading the truck. I want to be out of this hell hole by the end of next week."

Plunder stormed across the camp. His nose twitched as a breeze assailed him. The air smelled of blood and waste as the jungle humidity settled along the water. He was in his early fifties now, and well beyond putting up with such insolence from a bunch of African brats. He was saving their goddamn lives – didn't they understand that? Did they have any idea how many children would kill each other to receive money from him? He was running a charity really. A smelly, dirty charity where the poor had to give something back for what he was giving them.

As he approached the work area, he caught the sound of laughter in the distance. He double-timed his step.

A little girl with bony arms was telling other children a story in a quiet voice as her blistered fingers tangled up in lion fur. The other children were also working, muffling laughter into blood-stained hands.

"What the hell is going on here?"

The little girl's head whipped around at the sound of Plunder's voice. The children jumped up quickly, as they had been trained to do. Plunder glared at them all, his hands on his hips. The girl who had been telling the story looked down at the ground, her emaciated form trembling. Plunder's eyes rested on her.

"Ashra, were you telling a story?" he sneered.

Ashra shuffled her feet, eyes still downcast. She shook her head slowly.

"Answer me, brat!" Plunder demanded, seizing the little girl's shoulder.

She looked up with tears running down her face. She was shaking violently. Her voice was barely a whisper: "No, Mr. Plunder."

"No, Mr. Plunder?" He looked at her condescendingly. "Are you sure, Ashra? Because it sounded like a _very_ entertaining story. Perhaps you would like to tell Mr. Plunder about your story?"

The little girl continued shaking. "No, Mr. Plunder."

"Oh, I think it would be most entertaining. I think you were probably telling stories earlier when you and your friends should have been working. And that's why Mr. Plunder found bullet fragments in the lion fur." He released her shoulder. "_And_ that's why Mr. Plunder won't be giving you bread tonight. Tell your friends _that_ story."

Luten Plunder pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his hands. "Goddamn brats. How's a man supposed to make an honest buck with such disrespect?"

XXXXX

Wheeler pulled his towel around his shoulders and tried to absorb heat from the fire. He wished he could get closer to warm up, but that would defeat the purpose of isolating himself. _Damn her_, he thought, scowling at the distant flames. Damn her and her attitude and her stupid pride and her hair and her pretty face and her sexy accent. Damn it all.

He felt like he'd been in orbit around Linka for so long. She had become the air that he breathed and now he was choking. He'd always assumed that they were heading towards something. And not just something small. Somewhere in the back of his head were thoughts of marriage, of kids…

"Ah, shit," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He was in love with her. Stupid Yankee. He was going to have to find a way to move on from this.

Wheeler looked over at the group. Linka was sitting with them, but she seemed distracted. _Good_, he thought, _I hope she feels like crap_.

"The Janjaweed moved in quickly, from the north," Mfuto was explaining. "It took the Sudanese by surprise. At first, it just seemed like a military invasion. Then the genocide began."

The word settled over the group coldly. "How many times?" asked Kwame. "How many times can the world pretend that genocide will not happen again without intervention. The world swore that it would never forget the Holocaust, but then Rwanda…"

"Then Yugoslavia under Milosevic," added Ma-Ti.

"And Georgia," said Gi. "And let's not overlook Saddam's treatment of Kurds."

"And now, this," finished Kwame. "How many times?"

Mfuto sighed heavily and ran his hand near the flame. "And Plunder's involvement makes it all the worse. That is why Chad wanted your expertise in this situation. We knew that you had experience with the man."

"We'll do what we can," consoled Gi. "International involvement will be the key to separating Plunder from the refugees, reducing their dependence on him." She looked into the fire thoughtfully. "Maybe Medecins Sans Frontieres? They would provide medical care for the refugees. And UNICEF will not take kindly to how Plunder's been treating the kids."

"Both great ideas, Gi," smiled Ma-Ti. His smile faded as his gaze rested on Linka. She had pulled her long legs up and was hugging her knees tightly to her chest. Her green eyes looked sadly into the fire and he couldn't help but notice how she occasionally brushed tears from her cheeks. She hadn't said a word in hours.

He turned away from her field of vision slightly. "Heart."

Ma-Ti's mind reached out to Linka. He wanted to find out what emotions were tearing her apart, how he could help her. He sent waves of comfort to her. _We're here for you, Linka. How can we help you?_

_Just leave me alone, Ma-Ti. Pazhalyusta._

He retracted his thoughts and sighed. Wheeler's reaction had been similar.

"We'd better get to sleep," said Gi, standing up and stretching. "We've got a long day tomorrow."

Kwame yawned. "You are right, Gi. I will tend to the fire."

Wheeler saw the group beginning to settle in for the night. He stood slowly, grabbing his blanket from his knapsack. As he spread his blanket and began to lie down, he caught Linka's glance from the other side of the camp. The exchange was the briefest of seconds, but he could feel his heart stop in his chest. He swallowed against the lump in his throat as she turned away to tend to her sleeping bag. She really didn't seem to care.

That was fine. Neither did he.

"We will leave at sunrise," said Mfuto, giving a last glance at the sky, "We must leave early. A storm is coming."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

Kwame swore that the rain was coming from every direction at once.

The few hesitant drops had awakened the six before sunrise. Linka had volunteered to pack up the campsite as the rest had huddled under a tree and scarfed down granola bars for breakfast. It was becoming a routine – wherever Wheeler was, Linka went the opposite way, and vice versa. They were two like magnetic poles that kept pushing away from one another. It would become a real issue soon, thought Kwame. Teamwork was the cornerstone of their world-saving efforts.

Right now, the pelting rain was blurring his vision as he kept close to Mfuto, who was, thankfully, very certain of the right direction. He led them along the winding river, deeper and deeper into the jungle. Finally, the rain began to trail off and the wall of white water broke to reveal the opulent greenery of the African landscape.

Mfuto walked towards a small clearing surrounded by trees. "We shall rest here a minute," he said. "It is not much farther. Maybe a kilometer down the river."

Wheeler did some quick math. "Like a half mile?" he frowned. "Is that right?"

"About that," answered Gi. "God, why didn't you guys ever go with the metric system? Why base things on the measurement of some dead king's foot? I thought you were supposed to be on the cutting edge of things."

"We are," responded Wheeler. "Who else but the Americans could have come up with a Triple Whopper? We put beef on top of beef on top of beef, covered it with cheese, and put it on a bun. How's that for ingenuity?' He clutched his stomach. "Man, I'm hungry."

Ma-Ti rummaged through his knapsack. "I think we still have a few granola bars left." He counted them and looked up. "Oh, Linka. You never had yours this morning. Do you want it now?"

Linka was perched on a rock, ringing out her soaked blond hair. "Nyet, Ma-Ti. I am not hungry. Maybe later."

"Alright," he said, turning back to the bag. Wheeler reached over his shoulder and pulled out one of the bars. As he ate, he stole quick glances at Linka, who seemed exceptionally concerned with finding split ends in her hair. The drive he felt to apologize was strong and several times he held himself back from doing so. It always seemed like it was his responsibility to apologize, even when he didn't think he'd done anything wrong. She _never_ wanted to admit to being wrong. He didn't know why he kept allowing her to get away with it.

Linka was smart. Crazy smart. And that was what bugged him the most. _You'd think with all those brains in there that she wouldn't act like a six-year-old when she doesn't get her way_. But here they were – not speaking to each other after twelve hours. He wanted to put an end to it, but there was something different in this fight. There had been such _certainty_ in her voice as she pushed him away. Whatever was between them seemed…

Broken, Linka decided, blowing a few split ends into the breeze. These kinds of adventures had always been hell on her hair. Maybe she should go Gi's route, she thought. Get it all cut short. But she loved her long hair, she loved the look she got from Wheeler when she…

She blinked. _Eto tvoya problyema_, she told herself. There was her problem. Caring so much about what he thought of her. The urge to impress him, to make him proud of her – these impulses were simply not part of her nature. Or at least, she resolved, they should not be.

No matter how many times she had pushed him away, he had always come back. There was something comforting in that; it was consistency in their world of chaos. But her burden sat heavily upon her back. How could she be the beautiful, desirable girlfriend that part of her wanted to be while remaining the independent, asexual intellectual that the other part of her demanded? _Ochyen' trudno_. It was so hard.

So, better this way, she decided. No more tears. The resolve she felt made her sit up a little taller. They could be friends now. No pressure. No sexual tension. Better this way.

Mfuto stood up from his conversation with Gi, Ma-Ti, and Kwame. "Come, friends," he said, "it is time to move on."

Wheeler and Linka caught each other's eyes before joining the group. They were ready.

The smell of the camp was apparent before it was physically in sight. The deep, warm smell of rotting flesh crept in like thousands of squirming insects. They had been to dumps before, wading waist-deep through refuse for some reason or another. And the smell had always been the worst part of it. But this camp was different. The smell was organic.

The smell of dead things.

"We have certainly come to the right place," Linka observed softly. As they approached, the ground beneath them grew more and more slick. The dirt had been pressed in by the passing of many vehicles and the coating of fluids on the soil had not been washed away in the rain storm. There was blood and plenty of other waste. It was obvious that Plunder was not supplying the children with sanitary health conditions.

"This is as far as we should go," said Kwame. "Everyone, take out your cameras. Make sure to document everything you photograph. We need irrefutable evidence of Plunder's operation."

"We need records of health violations, child safety violations, international treaty violations," Gi listed. She shook her head. "The UN will have a field day with this place."

Wheeler walked around the corner and began clicking away with his camera phone.

Click

One shot of lion carcasses, their amber eyes caught looking up in a last minute display of ferocity against their attackers.

Click

One shot of raw sewage from the camp, running haphazardly through a leaky pipe into the river. _Oh, man_, he thought, _and I was in that water_. He reminded himself to take a very long, very hot shower when they got back to civilization.

Click

One shot of two little children, maybe ten-year-olds, carrying a huge lion pelt on their bony shoulders. Their eyes, he thought, looked a lot like the lion's. Dead inside.

He sighed and wondered for a brief but lucid moment of existentialism what was the point of any of this. What was the point in existence if 10-year-old Sudanese children were forced to carry lion pelts for some acquisitive asshole.

"Hi!"

The small voice behind him made him jump and drop his camera phone. He turned around quickly and looked into the face of a young girl. Her dark, haunted eyes looked up at him with a mixture of excitement and wariness.

"Hi," he replied, bending down to pick up his phone. "Uh, what's your name?"

The little girl looked down shyly. "Ashra."

Wheeler smiled at her. "Well, hey, Ashra. My name's Wheeler."

Ashra giggled. "That's a funny name."

"It's not a funny name!" Wheeler responded in mock indignation. "It's a nickname and I like it a lot. I think Ashra's a funny name too."

"Is not!"

"Is too!" The sound of angry voices arose nearby and Wheeler pulled Ashra towards his cover in the brush. "Ashra, do you work here? Does Mr. Plunder make you work here?"

The girl nodded. She looked down at her hands. Wheeler gently turned her palms towards him and was taken aback by the blisters and sores. Ashra quickly grew uncomfortable and hid her hands behind her back.

"It's OK," promised Wheeler. "My friends and I are here to help you. We are trying to make Mr. Plunder stop hurting you. Will you be able to help us?"

She looked anxiously toward the camp. "I will get in trouble and then we will get no bread. I made trouble before and we got no bread. I was sad because Kiani and Shanta are little and very hungry and I made them get no bread!" Her chin was quivering and Wheeler knelt down to take her in his arms.

"It'll be OK," he told the sobbing girl as he gently hugged her tiny form. She felt _very_ thin. She could be dead in a matter of months.

_No_, he thought decisively. _No, I will not let this kid die. This world may be messed up, but we can still choose to not just bend over and take it_.

"Come on," he said, taking her hand, "let's go find my friends.


	5. Chapter 5

Note:

1. In case you missed it, Thailand just experienced a military coup that ousted the Prime Minister Thaksin. There were widespread allegations of corruption surrounding Thaksin, so, as of now, it looks like this is a positive development from a progressive point of view. We'll see how upcoming elections are handled. Anyway, that's what the girls are talking about.

Chapter V

"Unreal. Just unreal," Gi murmured.

She had, of course, seen exploitation of children before. The bad guys of the world rarely showed any regard for the young lives they were ruining. The fact that children were not left untouched by the cruelty of greed and malevolence was a lesson she had learned early on in her life.

She remembered her parents taking her with them into downtown Bangkok. They were both professors of marine biology and were passionately pursuing new ways to preserve aquatic life in Asia. Her father had planned a speech to convince the government to increase funding for his work at Chulalongkorn University.

As her parents were leading her down the chaotic city streets, Gi had become distracted by a man selling balloons. The floating mylar reminded her of a shiny dolphin reaching the peak of its jump from the water, and she ran off to follow it. Soon she found herself lost, and not in the best part of town. As she surveyed the seedy buildings to get her bearings, she caught sight of a girl about her own age shivering on a corner.

Remembering that she should never talk to strange adults, Gi decided that the best way to find her parents was to ask the young girl the way back to town square. "Hi!" she called out, smiling. "Could you help me, please?"

The girl frowned, pulling out a cigarette and holding it to her lipstick-covered mouth. "What do you want? Can't you see that I am at work?"

Gi took a breath and continued. "I am lost. I need to get back to find my parents."

The girl rolled her eyes. "Listen," she snapped, "I do not have time for this. If you know what's good for you, you would just get out of here."

"Ja!" an angry male voice boomed. "Who are you talking to, girl? How can you get me my money when you are chatting? Your mouth should be put to better use!" He raised his hand and smacked the girl hard across the face.

Ja fell to the ground, clutching at her bloodied jaw with her hand. She quickly looked at Gi, who was standing, petrified, horrified. Ja's eyes said, _Run_!

Gi did.

Chulalongkorn University had won its grant that day. It became a center for marine research. With her parents' guidance, Gi learned all she could about marine biology. In discovering the world of the sea, Gi had found her purpose in life.

But she never forgot Ja, the girl who she surmised was long dead now. The image of her eyes was still in Gi's mind. That gave her life a purpose too.

And now it was these children who were being exploited. Gi carefully documented every detail of the photographs she was taking. "I'll send these to Kim when we get back," she told Linka, who was crouching next to her.

"Da, how is Kim?" Linka asked.

Gi smiled demurely. "He's good. Great, actually. He was in Bangkok last week and said things were calm, even though they had been gearing up for riots. No people going crazy in the streets, aside from a few protests of the coup. They needed to shut down the offices of AI-Thailand to adjust."

"But the coup is a good thing for Amnesty International, nyet?"

"Very good. Kim's psyched. And he'll raise hell about these pictures when he gets them. He helped shut down a couple of notorious child prostitution brothels recently; he really hates to see kids mistreated." Gi looked back out at the camp through her camera lens. "As do we all, I guess."

The two girls were silent for a few minutes as Gi clicked a couple of pictures. She then turned to her friend. "So, what's going on with you guys, Linka?"

The blonde dislodged the photo disk and replaced it with a new one. "_Kto_?"

Gi exhaled in exasperation. "You and Tom Cruise, Linka! Who do you think?" Then, more quietly, "You haven't spoken to him in almost a day. Not even a snippy remark."

"I do not make snippy remarks."

"You do. You know you do. This is a big deal and it affects all of us. I mean, Kim and I don't always see eye to eye, but sometimes, you…"

"Gi," Linka began, then stopped and sighed, turning away to take a picture. "Gi, I believe that I have come to a resolution regarding my relationship with him. We need to stop pretending that anything positive will come of it. He is my friend and I will treat him as my friend. That is the end of it."

Gi looked at her closely, trying to gauge Linka's true emotions. She was looking for a tell, some sign that things were not as dire as her friend let on. "You don't sound too happy."

"I am happy."

"Sure. Right. But what about…" she glanced up and noticed a larger figure leading a smaller figure towards them. "Wheeler!"

"He will adjust as well, in time."

"No!" said Gi, standing up from her position. "Look, it's Wheeler!"

As he came into view, the girls could see that the figure beside him was a small girl. She was dirty and terribly emaciated. She was clutching onto Wheeler's hand as if it were a lifeline. "Hey," Wheeler said as he approached them. "Look what I found."

Linka cast a glance up at him. _What are you doing, Yankee?_ She walked over to them and crouched to be at eye level with the child. "Hello," she said, smiling gently. "What is your name?"

"Ashra," the child responded quietly. She was still holding Wheeler's hand and shyly hiding behind him.

"Hi, Ashra!" Gi said as she also knelt next to the girl. "I'm Gi. It's nice to meet you."

Kwame and Ma-Ti approached the group, looking inquisitively at the new addition. Ashra clearly grew uncomfortable and whimpered softly, concealing herself as best she could behind the American. "It's alright, Ashra," he coaxed. "That's Kwame and Ma-Ti. They're friends too."

"Do not be afraid," Ma-Ti consoled. "We will help you. Can you tell us where your parents are?"

Ashra looked up at the kind young man. "Mama is at the camp. She sent me to get money. Papa fights Janjaweed at home."

As Ma-Ti continued to talk to the girl, Linka approached Wheeler. "May I have a word with you?"

She walked past him before he could respond. He dislodged himself from Ashra's grasp and hesitantly followed. Once they were out of range of the group, Linka turned to him, her arms folded over her chest. "What?" he asked.

"What are we supposed to do with this child, Wheeler? You know that Plunder will notice that she is missing and that could keep us from getting all the information that we need. And you know that her mother is sanctioning her working for Plunder. Will she be grateful that we have taken away her source of income?" She shook her head. "This is a big mistake."

"Well, please enlighten me, genius," he retorted, "what the hell was I supposed to do? This little girl with messed up hands and bones sticking out everywhere came up to me. I guess in Russia it's just, 'Oh vell, another child die. Do svidaniya.' But that's not how I roll." He noted the anger flaming in her eyes and smirked in satisfaction. "I wasn't gonna let this kid die. Enough's enough. I think I made the right move."

Linka took a deep breath. She was fighting not to slap that look off his face. "Good intentions, Wheeler," she said, turning away from him. "But good intentions without practicality lead to disaster. You Americans should know that better than anyone."

He was quiet as he stood behind her, unmoving. She looked over her shoulder. "Come on. Let us rejoin the group."

"An excellent idea!"

Wheeler and Linka stopped short as Luten Plunder's voice sounded behind them. They both spun around and saw of the middle-aged man with his entourage approaching them. Wheeler saw that Kwame, Ma-Ti, Gi, and Ashra had already been subdued; they were struggling against the muscular goons holding them. He went to raise his ring, but Bleak was quickly on top of him. He felt his arm being twisted behind him. Bleak was grinning. "Always trying to cause trouble, firebug," he said, smacking Wheeler's head to the ground.

"Wheeler!" cried Linka, struggling to free her ring hand from another man's grasp. She flung her head backwards, landing a blow to her captor's forehead. As he fell to the ground, she lifted her hand. "Wind!"

The gust came swiftly, knocking down several of Plunder's men. But there were simply too many of them, and two large men collided with her, sending her slender form sprawling. They picked her up, forcing her arms behind her back. "Pretty little thing," one of the men snickered. "Too bad she's an eco-brat, eh, Mr. Plunder?"

"Indeed, gentlemen, indeed." He motioned them towards the camp. "Take them to the camp and lock them up. As for _her_," he motioned towards Ashra. "She's got some work to finish for me, don't you Ashra?"

Kwame glared at Plunder as they were led in front of him. "Where is Mfuto, you monster? What have you done with him?"

Plunder laughed. "Done with him? My dear boy, he's right here!" He waved his hand behind him, and Mfuto approached, his eyes cast down at the ground. "Thank you for your help, Mfuto. Your village will be receiving the $5000 as soon as my pelts are shipped."

Mfuto nodded silently. He would not look up.

"You piece of shit!" Wheeler yelled. "You sold us out for $5000? Are you nuts?"

"We need the money," he responded. "You would not understand."

"Of course they don't, Mfuto," said Plunder, "But I do. Money is everything. Isn't that what Karl Marx said, Russky?" He looked towards Linka, who was still being held by two men. "Money is what runs the world. I see Mfuto as making a wise decision for his people." He smiled, then turned to his men. "Alright, take them away. Make sure to get their rings. Take their fingers too, if you have to. And put the girl back to work."

As the Planeteers were led away, Wheeler turned to Linka. "I guess you were right about good intentions. Look where it got us."


	6. Chapter 6

Happy Columbus Day! What better way to celebrate than to add another chapter onto my story dealing with another genocidal situation.

Chapter VI

Tangme Kim was considering the implications of revolution.

In the two years that he had worked at Amnesty International, he had traveled around the world, learning so much more than he would have sitting at home in the beautiful rice paddies of Thailand. He had come back home speaking four new languages. His mother would smile proudly at him, introducing him as her first born. "And," she would say, "he speaks English as well!"

Feeling caught somewhere in between being a precocious child and a carnival sideshow, Kim would always smile back, greeting his mother's friends with an exaggerated "How are you today?" in perfect English. The women would make a fuss and the fathers would shake their heads at their sons working in the paddies.

It was not how Kim wanted things to be. The paddies _were_ important. They were the lifeblood of all of Asia. Kim wanted to shake those disproving fathers and tell them that their sons were doing equal work, and that just because he had a job where he could travel the world, it did not make him better.

Thailand and most of South Asia were on the precipice of the rollercoaster slope that was globalization. The same force that gave officials in Bangkok the money to provide building space for Amnesty International was also making the rice paddies less important. Could China provide rice more cheaply? Could Vietnam? How could Thailand compete on the global scale?

Corruption in the government had hurt. The prime minister had funneled money away from many NGOs over the years, and Kim himself had felt the pinch. His trips had been cut back. In fact, AI had only sent him on one trip in the past year, to South Africa. He had been dejected, irate over the situation in his homeland when a pretty girl with short dark hair had smiled at him during a meeting in Capetown. "Life not so good?" she had asked in Thai.

He had been taken with her since that moment.

He really missed Gi right now, as he was trying to figure out his next move. How could his organization normalize relations with the military government? Would they be sympathetic to AI's needs, or brush it aside as a non-essential department? There was so much going on in the world. Kim wanted to be a part of it. He wanted someone to lighten his mood, to quell his restlessness as he waited to see what the revolution had in store for him.

He really missed her.

Kim flipped open his i-Book and clicked to look at his mail. To his surprise, he had a new message.

XXXXX

Mud under her fingernails. Linka had come to that decision. The mud jammed under her fingernails had been the icing on the torte.

Plunder had had his men herd the Planeteers into a fenced in area as if they were cattle. The men had grabbed their hands roughly and pried the rings from their fingers. Linka had definitely put up a fight. The mud under her nails had magnified the generally pissed-off mood she had been in since her fight with Wheeler. One of the men had taken the opportunity to give her backside a squeeze. Her knee had been swift and accurate.

Right now, they were standing at the fence, watching many, many small children digging into dead lions with their fingers. Ma-Ti had cried a little, trying to hide his tears from the others. _We may be adults now_, he thought, _but no one is too mature to be unaffected by this_.

The exception to that particular rule was not far away. Plunder strode around the camp, proudly surveying the children's work. He and a few guards had personally escorted little Ashra to an area behind the sheds out back. Ashra stumbled out about half an hour later, looking bruised and worn. Plunder's guards were adjusting their belt buckles, sneering at the whimpering child.

Plunder pushed her as she walked. "Ashra, you need to hurry along back to your group. They are now far behind because of you, and as you know, they have not been eating much, so they have slowed down. Go on, now."

The girl froze where she was. Her hands were clenched into tiny fists. Breath was escaping her bloodied lips in fierce bursts.

Plunder put his hands on his hips. "Ashra, I told you to go. You don't want to disappoint me do you?"

The girl still did not move, and Plunder grabbed her arm harshly. "You don't want me to let my guards have more time with you, do you?" he snarled.

Ashra's eyes widened. The pain between her legs was still fresh. "No," she whispered.

"No what?"

"No, Mr. Plunder."

"Then go." As she ran off, Plunder strolled by the Planeteer's prison cell. He surveyed them happily, a superior grin on his face.

Wheeler was the first to speak. "What did your men do to Ashra?" he asked gravely.

Plunder shrugged. "As far as I'm concerned, nothing."

"What did they do?" Wheeler's face had turned the bright red hue of his hair.

"She got what she deserved."

A smug, unapologetic smile was playing across Plunder's thin lips. Wheeler reared back and threw his entire weight against the gate. The bars shook and shuddered, but held. He slammed against them a few more times, but to no avail. Holding his sore shoulder, Wheeler stood down, defeated and glaring at his pony-tailed captor. "This isn't over."

"No, I suspect not," Plunder replied, walking away from their cell. "But you're out of my hair for now."

"What?" sneered Wheeler, "That receding grey thing on your head?"

Plunder stopped short. He walked over to the American and stared at him face to face through the bars. Wheeler, for his part, held his ground. "Look, boy," he began, "I think that you have a pretty good idea of what could happen to you in this situation."

"I'm not afraid of you," Wheeler replied.

"Of course not," said Plunder, "But I believe that you are fully aware of what my men are capable of." He led Wheeler's gaze back to the area Ashra had just exited. "And I think you've noticed the way they've been looking at your blond girlfriend…"

Wheeler's fist flew quickly in Plunder's direction through a space in the bars. The older man calmly stepped back and the punch connected with nothing but air. "So, you get my point then?" he asked, smirking at the younger man.

Wheeler was seething as he felt Kwame's hand on his shoulder. Not breaking his glare at Plunder, Wheeler backed up silently.

As the older man walked away, Wheeler turned to the others. "We've got to get out of here."

XXXXX

All Ma-Ti could hear was the sound of children screaming.

He was in a dark, dense jungle. His hands groped through leaves and palms as countless stray branches tangled his long hair. He could feel tiny insects colliding with his face as he ran blindly through the brush. The noise was all encompassing around him.

Ma-Ti could not make out distinct words, but he was entirely aware that these children were calling for his help. The screams were cutting through the pitch-black surroundings, filling his ears. The children were in trouble, hurt, dying. Ma-Ti ran faster.

He could hear the sounds getting closer, getting louder. So much pain. He raised his ring to his forehead and winced as a sharp twig scratched against his arm. He opened his mouth, but the command was thrown back in his throat. He struggled a few more times. _Heart!_ his mind screamed. _Heart!_ Where were the children? He had to find them. The screams were deafening.

His forehead felt damp as his hand brushed against it. He lowered his ring hand and tried to scrutinize it through the darkness. Suddenly, all was illuminated. There were small bodies all around him, their forms mutilated. The screaming had stopped. Ma-Ti saw that his hands were covered in rich, red blood.

Ma-Ti's eyes flew open. His body was covered in sweat as he surveyed his surroundings. They were still locked in the cell, deep in the Chadian jungle. He looked over at his friends. Kwame and Gi were curled up near one corner of the prison; Wheeler and Linka were at opposite corners, obviously still avoiding each other as much as possible. Even in their dire circumstances, the two couldn't help holding a grudge. Stubborn.

The dream was still driving his heartbeat. Ma-Ti breathed slowly, trying to center himself. Their frustrating situation was dominating both his conscious and unconscious mind. He had felt so powerless, seeing Ashra's beaten face, mourning the child's lost innocence. Now they were trapped in the midst of Plunder's horrific operation.

A tiny noise pricked Ma-Ti's ears. He quietly made his way towards the sound, stepping softly around his friends. As he peered through the darkness, he noticed a small figure moving near the shed. Ashra.

The little girl was creeping towards their cage with a noticeable limp. Her eyes were huge in her gaunt face. She was shaking slightly, and the motion was causing something in her grasp to make a rattling noise. She used her other hand to still the shaking. She was holding a set of keys.

Ma-Ti watched the girl approach, aghast. This was a remarkable child. Enslaved, starved, beaten, broken, and violated, it was Ashra coming to their rescue.

"Ashra," he whispered as she approached, "What are you doing?"

The little girl crept towards him, mustering a crooked smile. "I stole keys."

"You stole keys," Ma-Ti repeated, shaking his head. "But how?"

"There is a new man watching us," she explained, as she handed the keys to her friend. "He cannot tell us apart. I hid from him. I waited and waited and waited for him to go to sleep. He had thrown keys on the ground. I stole."

The others were stirring and Ma-Ti turned to them, signaling them to hush. "What the hell?" asked Wheeler, noticing Ashra's presence.

Ma-Ti took the keys from her and quietly opened the lock to their cell. He took the girl by the hand. "Come," he said, "let us get you out of here."

They moved quickly, making their way to the edge of the camp. They were already at the jungle when Bleak's voice echoed through the night. "Oi! Mr. Plunder! The brats have escaped!"

Plunder surveyed the empty cell, then turned angrily to face the outside world. "You think you've beaten me, punks?" he yelled out to his lost quarry. "I have all your cameras! You've got nothing on me!"

Hearing Plunder's words, Gi stopped in her tracks. She turned to face the direction of the camp. "Plunder, you moron!" she yelled back to him, "I sent those pictures to the authorities hours ago! You've never heard of e-mail?"

With that, the Planeteers and Ashra continued to make their way back to the Geo-Cruiser.

Plunder stood silently. His fists clenched and unclenched. _Shit_, he thought. _Shit, shit, shit_.

His mind reeled. He could be in big trouble. What steps could he take now? He had overlooked something so simple. Of course they could transmit images as soon as they were taken. _Shit_.

The men were standing around him, looking at their boss silently. Each of them was doing the arithmetic to figure out how old they would be when they were out of jail. Some were regarding Plunder expectantly, and he could feel their eyes on him. "Mr. Plunder?" Bleak prompted.

"Bleak," Plunder began calmly, "get Rick on the phone. I need to talk to him."

A few minutes later, Bleak approached his boss, holding his cell phone. "He's in session, Mr. Plunder. They say he can't take any calls."

"Tell him it's an emergency. Tell him it's me."

After Bleak relayed the information, he held the phone out to Plunder. "He's on, Mr. Plunder."

Luten Plunder took the phone from his bodyguard. "Mr. Senator," he said sternly, "we've got a situation in Africa."


	7. Chapter 7

Light chapter, but here's where we get into the nitty gritty. Any similarity between these characters and real people are purely coincidental. Well, kind of coincidental. A little coincidental?

Chapter VII

"We need to be talking less about partisanship and more about _embracing_ our differences to work together for our common goals. The other side talks about how we are not transparent enough with our decision-making. But that's where they're wrong. That's not why the people elected us. The American public realizes that a certain level of opacity must be expected if we are to win the war on terror. I would hope that our citizens have enough faith in us, enough faith in _me_, to trust that the decisions we make are to their benefit. Thank you. Are there any questions?"

The junior senator stepped back from the microphone and pointed at the press member from the local newspaper. He nodded his head as the question was asked, waited one second, two seconds, held his finger to his lips, and responded. "Well, that's exactly what we've been thinking about, Tim."

The next reporter: nod, wait one second, two, finger to lips, "I see where you're coming from, Joanne."

The next: nod, wait, finger, "There are things I can discuss, Roger, and things I can't. You understand, of course."

After continuing his routine for the next eight questions, the senator stood back from the podium and wished the press corps a good night.

_Good night, you ignorant dopes_.

It wasn't that Rick _liked_ lying to people. Who would? Most people have a natural antipathy for the act, the disconnect in the brain between what is and what was spoken seems troubling. But he was so damn good at it.

The people of his state had elected him to several consecutive terms, all because he promised to throw a little pork their way. What did it matter if he was supporting investments in drug cartels and sweatshops? Promise the people more money for a sports arena and they'll stand in line to attach their lips to your ass.

The junior senator looked over his schedule for the day. A light day. Just a few meetings with his party, planning ways to discredit the opposition. And then a lunch with a prayer group who was cheerleading his refusal to provide AIDS programs with anything other than abstinence-only materials. Frankly, if a quarter of Africans dropped dead from the disease tomorrow, Americans wouldn't even bat an eye.

Ah yes, Africa. Plunder's call a few days ago had been unanticipated. Usually, his biggest campaign contributor had no problems standing on his own. The plan Plunder had discussed seemed fool proof. Promise some poor Africans money in exchange for their kids' labor and provide the voracious underground market new lion fur. Plunder stood to make millions from the supply. And a good chunk of those millions would go into Rick's reelection campaign.

It had to have been because of those goddamn Planeteers. They had interfered with his election chest before. They were a problem. A bigger problem than the United Nations, the Peace Corps, and Amnesty International combined.

Really, when did the world stop revolving around money? The junior senator was relatively sure that it hadn't.

He had powerful friends. His talent for fabrication had caught the eyes of the higher-ups in the administration. He was being groomed for something. The cabinet, maybe. Maybe even the presidency.

To run those elections, however, Rick would need money. The kind of money that Plunder could provide. Getting that money was going to require going up against several strong foes: NGOs, the UN, and those goddamn Planeteers.

The junior senator crossed over to his window overlooking the National Mall. A slight smile was turning the corners of his lips. Oh, he could play hardball.

Those kids had no idea what they were up against.

XXXX

Linka was pushing her way into her fifth mile.

She had lost Gi about two miles back. The other girl had encouraged her friend to go on ahead of her. She was complaining of side pains, but Linka believed that the pain had more to do with a need to check her e-mail. Kim was due for a new message.

Her arms pumping in a comfortable rhythm, Linka let herself consider the events of the past week. Their arrival back on Hope Island with Ashra in tow had been a bit troubling for Gaia. Of course, the Spirit would never advocate sending the child back to the situation in Chad, but she did express her concern over tending to her needs.

Gi had taken point on teaching the girl. She had drawn on her parents' educational backgrounds and had patiently given Ashra lessons in math, science, and reading. With Gi's help, Linka was certain that Ashra would be the first literate female in her family.

Ma-Ti's affinity for children had been helpful as well. He spent much time playing games with the child, teaching her about the animal life of Hope Island. For all the fun they were having with Ashra, Linka knew that they were all anxious to oust Plunder from the region and return the girl to her family.

As her thoughts drifted, Linka sensed her heartbeat slowing back down. She sped up, pushing her muscles to keep up with her demands. Running had never been her thing when she was younger. She had been a broad jumper, a damn good one, too. She had been the champion of her district right before she joined the Planeteers. It was a proud moment for her. She could remember Mishka's loud voice cheering as she accepted her medal. Boris had been there as well. "Wait until next year, cousin," he had said with a wink. "Next year, I will compete and jump twice what you did!"

Linka had smiled at the mock challenge. "_Davai_," she said, raising an eyebrow.

He had, of course, never followed through with his challenge. Boris had turned to the scourge of post-communist Russia: drugs. Drugs had taken his zest for life, his sense of humor and enthusiasm. And in the end, drugs took his life.

The memories of her addiction assailed her, stealing a bit of her breath. It had been frightening for her, the ease with which bliss had stolen her control over her life. She was always the responsible one; she knew that her friends looked to her to maintain a sense of rationality when things got crazy on missions. And there she was – out of control. It had been so pathetic.

And yet, she considered, breathing through the pain beginning to throb in her ribs, she had been wrestling with control issues since joining the Planeteers. And those issues were less self-inflicted. They came complete with blue eyes, red hair, and a New York accent.

She wasn't made of ice. Of course she enjoyed his attention on some level. Of course she wondered…well, a lot of things about him. His touches felt like sparks against her skin. There were times when the urge to trace his muscular chest with her hands was so strong, it required a sizable amount of strength to ignore it. There were times his eyes extended a very tempting invitation to her. A full contingent of what-ifs marched through her mind on a daily basis, distracting her, much to her irritation.

She frowned. It was nice to be considered attractive. Her fear was that would be _all_ she was considered. She wanted more for herself, and she was fairly certain that the Yankee was not capable of helping her attain it.

She stopped to catch her breath at the seven mile mark. She had needed this. She needed a chance to clear her thoughts, to focus on herself for a change. And she liked the feeling of the blood pulsing in her body. She felt better. She felt in control. She even felt ready to talk to Wheeler again.

As she approached his room, Linka could hear the American's voice. He was on the phone. Although she felt uncomfortable about her unintentional eavesdropping, she couldn't help overhear the conversation.

"Yeah, sorry I missed you last time we were in the U.S.," he was saying. "I kind of had other things to do. But I'd like to get together sometime, for sure."

Linka's eyes narrowed. Who on earth was he talking to?

"I just realized that I need to have a little fun once in a while. You know, blow off some steam. I mean, the Planeteers are great, but a guy's gotta work to have a good time with them." Wheeler's voice fell silent for a few seconds. "Who? Oh, just a friend. I'm sure. So maybe next week then?" He listened again. "Alright, cool. Hey, I'll talk to you later, Rachel. Bye."

Linka's heart stopped in her chest. This was not going the way she envisioned it. _Novie plan_, she thought. The new plan involved making her way to her room through the tears clouding her vision.

But she did not cry.

It was about control.

She turned around to go for another run.


	8. Chapter 8

So, my boys are, what, 2 and 7 now? Sheesh. Well, at least I could enjoy all the game-day excitement of the mid-term elections on Tuesday. And now I can safely say that I am not negatively portraying a _currently elected_ political figure in this story. A little more breathing room, if you will. If you are in search of fluff this chapter, look elsewhere.

Chapter VIII

Mfuto's wife was breathing heavily.

He could hear the sound of her labor from inside the tent as he sat nervously in the hot sand outside. He had watched the midwife poke her elderly head out from the tent several times, rummaging for more clean cloths. Each time, the old woman had given him a reassuring grin. He had tried to grin back, but the sides of his mouth felt tense. An uneasiness was settling over him.

The cascade of violence around them was not the backdrop Mfuto had wanted for his first child. Instances of aggression in the camp had grown as Sudanese refugees flooded into it in ever increasing numbers. The summer itself had proven unkind as well. The sun baked the landscape into an arid husk of its former self. There was little to drink, less to eat. Tensions were as high as he could remember them.

In the past ten days, Mfuto could recall seven fierce arguments, four violent, one fatal. Nothing was safe from nighttime looters. Rape was rampant.

And yet here he sat, awaiting his child's birth. Mfuto was praying for a boy – a son. He valued women very highly, but a son was such a remarkable gift. A son would be strong. He could be a leader. He could lead their small village into Darfur, overthrow the government, destroy the Janjaweed. A son could save them all.

Mfuto breathed, letting the dusty air reach the corners of his lungs. His wife had been in labor for 12 hours. The money Plunder gave him had been funneled into providing her with the best care in all of Africa. He had provided for the travel of renowned midwives from Nairobi. He had managed to supply clean, sanitary linen. He had paid for the only water supply in the region to flow into his wife's tent.

A scream cut through the air like heat lightning. Mfuto jumped to his feet and ran to the dirty green tent. As he approached, one of the midwives stood in front of him, blocking his entrance. "You cannot go in."

Another scream assailed them. "She is in pain!" Mfuto cried, leaning into the slight woman. She again blocked him, pushing him back. "Please," he pleaded.

"You cannot," she said sternly. "It is forbidden. It will harm her and the baby. Best for you to stay out –"

A third cry was followed by a small gurgling sound. The midwife ducked back inside the tent, leaving Mfuto to pace just outside the flap. He could hear panicked discussion, the women's frustrated voices filling the small space.

Finally, unable to stand outside any longer, Mfuto entered the tent. He encountered the stunned faces of the two midwives. Behind them was his lovely wife, covered in those expensive white linen cloths as the water pump dripped quietly beside her. Her eyes were closed tightly. _She must be so exhausted_, Mfuto thought, reasoning that she had indeed spent the last twelve hours in labor.

But she made not a sound. His eyes drifted to her tiny ribcage. He waited for it to rise and fall. He waited, and waited, and waited.

"I am so sorry," a midwife consoled, pressing her claw-like hand to his arm. A tear was drying on her cheek. Mfuto looked at the other midwife. Her hands covered her face as she wept.

"The baby?" he asked. "My son?"

The second midwife slowly pulled her hands from her face and turned to him. "Your daughter," she corrected, "was stillborn. She did not live."

The world spun violently around Mfuto for a few moments. He closed his eyes tightly against the nauseous sensation enveloping him. He was certain that when he opened them, he would be next to his wife on their bed, his hand resting comfortably on her swollen belly.

But when his eyes opened again, his wife was motionless, a greenish tint shading her beautiful dark skin. He collapsed to the ground, curling himself tightly around his sorrow. He had planned everything. He had dealt with Plunder, an evil man, to ensure his child's safe delivery. And he was left with nothing.

As Mfuto's gaze wandered to the tiny, tiny form wrapped in expensive white linen next to his dead wife, a single thought pierced his clouded mind. He needed to get in touch with the Planeteers.

He needed to make at least one thing right again.

XXXX

Six thousand miles away, a young man with well-coiffed hair and a mile-wide grin was setting things right in his own way.

Rick was waiting quietly in his aisle. It was all about how you said a thing. Of course, he couldn't just ask the Senate to attach the kind of clause he was proposing to the Darfur aid bill. Whether the other senators had strong feelings on Africa or forgot it was there half the time, there was no way he was going to get his rider passed on its face value. It wasn't that the senators (especially his own party) really gave a damn about a dwindling lion population or little African kids doing the skinning. It was just that you couldn't _say_ things like that. Someone with some crazy liberal agenda would get their nose out of joint over it. And then everyone would have to listen to this bleeding heart filibuster the hell out of it. No one wanted that.

So the facts just had to be coaxed a little bit. Information was like clay – it could be molded to best suit his purposes. After all, the junior senator was certainly not a liar.

Just a creative interpreter of the truth.

The vice president lumbered to the microphone. "The Senate now recognizes the junior senator from the Commonw-"

"Thank you, thank you, Mr. President." Rick stood and beamed towards the old man before he had completed his introduction. "My fellow Senators, I am sure that we have all become quite aware of the situation in Africa right now. Not only are many Africans meeting an untimely demise because of AIDS – a disease which can be virtually eliminated through abstinence education – but we also currently face hardship in central Africa. Disaster has shaken the nation of Chad. This large country has been the unfortunate beneficiary of thousands of refugees fleeing Sudan.

"These refugees are pouring into camps in Chad after being uncooperative with Sudanese policy of compliance with the Janjaweed, a new political faction."

He was really on a roll now. His face glowed with confidence. "I am proposing a way to financially aid Chadian people so that this unfortunate refugee situation does not destroy their economy."

"You want to increase financial aid to Africa?" an older Senator asked. "But, and excuse my frankness in discussing my esteemed colleague, I believe that we have caught you reversing your position, sir. Did you not, just last week, affirm that we must stop giving free aid to African, and as you said, 'non-Christian' nations?"

Rick's grin widened. He almost laughed. "The distinguished fellow from my neighboring state is mistaken. I am not advocating free aid to Africa or any other nation. I am requesting that we attach a rider to S. 199 that would free industrious entrepreneurs from having to adhere to the same regulations as they would if they were based in America. In order to grow the African economy, we need _less_ regulation, not more. Consider the humble beginnings of this great nation. Our most industrious time, the time when we became an international superpower, we were largely unregulated. That is what is called for in Africa, a chance to make money in our great capitalist tradition."

A chorus of "here here!" resounded around Rick as he sat back down in his seat. S. 199 would surely pass the Senate and the president would without doubt sign it. Plunder was going to be free to use whatever kind of labor he wanted in Africa. Whatever kind of evidence those Planet-brats had was useless.

Rick straightened his red, white, and blue tie as the applause died down around him. God bless America.

XXXXX

Wheeler was doing a final check on the Geo-Cruiser. It had needed a tune up after being left to sit in the moist African jungle for a few days. He absently flipped through the switches, making sure everything was ready for a flight back to the States.

It would be cool to see Rachel again. The pretty girl had met up with him about a year ago. He had been visiting his mom in Brooklyn and decided to drop by one of his old hangouts to see if anyone was still around.

The place was deserted. What had been a vibrant arcade, loaded with kids who had pockets full of change and stolen cigarettes, was now all but empty. The electronic beeps and blings were silent. All that was left was a dingy little bar area featuring four taps, three of which were covered by empty plastic cups. And in that bar area sat Rachel.

The conversation had come fairly easily, as Wheeler had always been pretty affable. Rachel apparently knew many of his old group and actually had dated one of his best friends. The girl was attractive, with dark brown hair and eyes and naturally slim. She was also flirtatious. After a couple of beers from the one working tap, Wheeler was flirtatious too.

A prick of guilt had caught him off-guard as he talked to the girl. He felt…he couldn't identify what he felt. Shady? Unfaithful? But it had been so frustrating to be stuck in a situation with Linka that seemed to have no solutions. There was no way that this drunken girl before him was even in the same galaxy as the beautiful Russian he pursued. Her face was less delicate, her eyes less penetrating. She was not athletically built; she did not have Linka's long, muscular runner's legs. No independent demeanor, no flash of temper, no intimidating intelligence, no depthless compassion.

But she was there. And she did not push him away.

Their evening together involved nothing more than a few awkward kisses, despite Rachel's blatant willingness to move further. For as much as he was enjoying himself in cutting a little loose, his conscience was getting the better of him. He must have mentioned Linka's name at least a hundred times. Rachel had sighed at the end of the night.

"Well, Wheeler," she smiled, a bit forlornly, "it's been fun. Look me up next time you're stateside. You know," she leaned in close to him, "if you're available."

He had not even thought of her much in the past year. The events in Africa, however, how _bad_ things were between them, had given him the excuse to look up the brunette. He had to admit, he was kind of looking forward to it. She was a fun girl, and sure to give his fractured ego a boost. There were no questions, no tension. None of the overwhelming pain involved in wanting something unattainable so badly. He was even able to ignore the tiny nibbles of guilt that were warming the back of his neck.

"_Kuda ti edyosh', _Yankee?"

He sighed as he heard the voice behind him. Why did she have to give him Russian right now? It just made things harder. It made him want to forget this whole Rachel business and learn Russian curse words all night. It would be a lot of fun…

"Uh, New York," he said, never turning around. "Home. I was just going to spend some time with some of my old buddies. Kick back a few. Relax. You know."

He turned to her. She was wearing his favorite jeans, the ones that hugged her curves and bared flesh through a few rips and tears. Her tank top was short and was riding up a bit to reveal her toned stomach. The expression on her face was…what? Drawn, maybe. A little sad. He wondered fleetingly if she knew who he was meeting. But of course she didn't. And even if she did, would she really care?

Linka managed a small smile. "Oh," she said, shoving her hands in her pockets. Damn it, things were never this awkward between them. Her choice to kneecap their relationship was supposed to make this easier, not harder.

But, her temper interrupted, he did not have to go run off with some _neryakha_ immediately after. She had made the right decision. He was not worth wasting her concern.

Still, it hurt. A lot.

"Well, have a good time, Wheeler. I guess we will see you when you are back."

Wheeler took a moment to get his fill of gazing at her. She still looked sad, but always so very beautiful. This was so much harder than he had anticipated. "Yeah."

She smiled slightly and gave a small wave. "And Yankee?"

"Yeah?"

"Please be careful."

He appreciated that. He retuned her smile and wave and lifted off to go meet a girl who certainly had some big shoes to fill.


	9. Chapter 9

We're getting into some dark territory here, kids. Why do you think I classified this thing as 'angst'?

Notes:

1. The ICC is the International Criminal Court. The Court is meant to try people who commit crimes against humanity. The US has opposed it based on fears over sovereignty of jurisdiction, favoring the inconsistent ad hoc system.

2. The UNDHR is the United Nations Declaration of Human Rights. It spells out the rights of all humans to live, speak, and worship freely (first generation), to work safely and earn a respectable living (second generation), and have one's culture respected (third generation).

Chapter IX

It was the rainy season again.

Women with bodies bent over like inchworms worked furiously as the heavy drops of rain began to fall. Their pant legs were rolled loosely around their knees as their feet waded perilously in the soggy paddies. It was time to move the young, tender plants to protect them from the coming monsoon.

The timing of the rainy season was changing. Everyone noticed, but nobody really discussed it. Monsoons were earlier now, fiercer. They had become devastating. The shift had created havoc for the workers. The rice plants themselves were sprouting more sparsely, as if they too were confused, hesitant.

Intellectuals were calling it global warming. Discussions were taking place in universities and in government buildings. There were questions and ideas from all sides, but no agreed-upon solutions.

This kind of talk did not reach the paddies. Workers only knew the nature of the plants, the way they were changing their growth habits. Something, they knew, was wrong. But for now, they simply worked quickly, trying to ensure that their village would have enough rice for next year.

While he would have typically noted these changes with concern, Kim had too many other problems to worry about.

He stood silently in the office of Amnesty International Thailand's director. Kim's eyes were fixed on the director's face, which was lit by his i-Book's screen. The director's reaction was obvious and intense. Gi's photos were a documentary of savagery, chronicling the worst in humanity. Kim wondered at the courage of his petite girlfriend. How she dealt with this situation in the flesh was beyond him.

The director gently closed the laptop. Kim watched the man remove his glasses and rub the bridge of his nose. He replaced his glasses and looked up at Kim. He did not say a word.

Kim held his gaze. He knew. There were really no words to express the situation.

"What's the move?" Kim asked.

"The man – if you could call him a man – responsible, he is American?"

Kim nodded. "Yes, sir. A businessman. Entrepreneur. Gi believes that he is using Sudanese children to clean lion pelts and then sell them on the underground market."

The director sighed. It was a dark, dejected sound. Kim wondered fleetingly how much the older man had had to deal with in his career. How many people had he seen suffering? How many children had he watched die? His was a job that Kim did not envy. "Amnesty International does not have the most jurisdiction against Americans," the director said. "We cannot rely on ICC for backing, since the U.S. does not acknowledge it."

Kim searched the man's face. Anger was building up inside of him. The thought that Plunder might get away with this hit him square in the gut. "So we do nothing?! We cannot do nothing!"

"And we will not," assured the director. "We will simply need to take a different approach. Plunder is violating international law with regard to the UNDHR, but he is also violating U.S. labor law. He cannot create a sweatshop then hide behind Sudanese willingness to comply."

The director picked up the receiver to his phone. "I need you in Washington, DC. I will set up a meeting with the Congressional Human Rights Committee. You must get in contact with the Planeteers. Make sure they're there as well."

Kim grinned. "No problem, sir."

XXXXX

"The Docks? Are you sure about this?"

Rachel flashed Wheeler a bright, wicked smile and grabbed him by the hand. "Are you kidding? It's the only decent place around. They totally know me there."

He was still hesitant and stayed where he was. "You sure are … uh … known at a lot of places."

She laughed, moving her hand up to rustle his windblown red hair. "Well, yeah! You should know I'm pretty hot stuff around here. You gotta check out The Docks."

The place was as rough and unwelcoming as Wheeler had remembered it. He and his friends, loaded with teenage cockiness and bravado, had managed to sneak into the place while they were in high school. Two concussions and a bloody nose later, they were forced to rethink the wisdom of their plan as they were "asked" to exit the club.

Rachel, however, strode in confidently, hugging the brawny, tattooed doorman as they entered. Soon, after fighting through a mob of flailing dancers, they were seated at the bar with techno music blaring in their ears. Wheeler silently wondered if he wasn't getting a little old for this stuff. Kind of sad at age twenty-two, he thought.

A beer and a shot appeared before him. He nudged Rachel and she leaned towards him. "What's this?" he shouted over the music, pointing to the dark liquid filling his shot glass to the brim.

"Jager and Golshlager," she responded, quickly downing her own shot. She winked at him suggestively. "It's called a Red-Headed Slut."

Her aggressiveness took him aback. It was the polar opposite of what he was used to. However refreshing her attitude was, however, he couldn't prevent one thought from entering his mind as he drank the shot. _I'm really getting in too deep here_.

A few hours later, the pair left the bar, although Rachel was now flanked by a few of her male friends. Whether she knew the guys before that night or not, Wheeler couldn't be sure. Her capricious nature, coupled with the dizzying effects of the alcohol, was making it hard to keep track.

"Where are we going?" he asked, watching the entourage round the corner.

Rachel stumbled around to look at him. "My place," she slurred.

Wheeler stopped in his tracks, steadying himself on a lamppost. "What? Whoa, whoa, whoa – wait a minute." He shook his head slowly as to not upset his equilibrium. "Rachel, I don't know about this. I mean, I'm gonna have to be going."

She shook herself free from the supporting arms of her friends and staggered towards the tentative Planeteer. "Oh, come on, Wheeler," she pleaded, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her pupils were dialated, making her eyes appear huge under the streetlight. "Why do you have to leave so early? You gotta get home to your girlfriend?"

Linka's face flashed in his mind for at least the millionth time that night. "Who…what girlfriend?"

Rachel gave an exaggerated eye roll and sigh. "What's 'er name? Linda or whatever. You know, that chick you've been boinking."

Wheeler gave an uncomfortable, yet rueful chuckle. "Yeah, well, I can assure you, there's been no 'boinking' in my life for quite some time."

That prompted a slight smile from the girl. "That's a pity," she said, removing her arms from his neck and bounding back up to her friends ahead of them.

Wheeler remained where he was for another moment. _Way, way too deep_, he thought, then followed behind them.

XXXXX

Everything on Hope Island was terribly quiet.

Gi had taken Ashra out in one of the boats to look at the constellations shining above the water. The little girl was showing a real affinity for science, and Gi had pounced on the chance to share her love of the ocean with the child. She had taken advantage of the clear night to teach Ashra how sailors would use the stars to navigate their ways back home.

Ma-Ti was meditating on the far side of the island. He was worlds away now, lost in the silence of the peaceful island. He would not return for hours, but when he did, it would be with a greater clarity of perception.

Kwame was reading in the library. He had decided to review African mythology to give Ashra a sense of connection to her Sudanese heritage. With the correct guidance, the girl could be a leader for her people, overcoming the sexism that still pervaded many areas of Africa. He did not wish to see the bright young child grow to be another submissive woman, agreeing to traditional mutilation rituals and gender roles. African was the birthplace of matriarchy. Ashra needed to connect with that idea.

All this peace and quiet left Linka alone with her own rather loud thoughts.

She had planned to read the night away, to catch up on scientific and social developments. Unfortunately, after her third time re-reading the same paragraph, she recognized the futility of her attempts. Surfing the Internet quickly deteriorated into playing ridiculous online games. She quickly chastised herself. Hadn't she recently told Wheeler that those games killed brain cells? And her legs were unwilling to give her more than the ten miles she had run earlier that evening.

So there she was, exhausted and unable to distract herself from thoughts of Wheeler.

She idly wandered over to the refrigerator and surveyed its contents. After a moment's reflection, she selected a large bag of M&Ms left over from Ma-Ti's birthday party. As adverse as she was to indulge in junk food, the depression gnawing at her demanded something less than healthy.

She settled down with her snack and sighed deeply. Well, if her mind would not think of anything but the American, then she would at least think of the situation analytically. Actually try to assess the situation and find a solution to their problems.

Until recently, things had been going so well between them. She remembered last (American) Christmas Eve, the two had decided to watch _It's a Wonderful Life_ together. Linka had never seen the film, but Wheeler had assured her of its classic status among holiday films.

They sat amiably on the sofa together, watching Clarence help down-on-his-luck George Bailey learn the importance of one man's life. As Jimmy Stewart triumphantly pulled Zuzu's petals from his pocket, Linka noticed a small noise beside her. She looked over to see tears leaving trails down Wheeler's freckled cheeks.

She giggled and brushed the tears away with her thumb. "Oh, Yankee. You are so sentimental. I cannot believe you are crying."

He pulled slightly away from her. "I am not," he said, indignantly,

"You are! I saw you!" she laughed and poked him gently in the ribs. "You cannot hide it from me!"

"Fine," Wheeler said, with mock sternness. "Since you can't behave, you'll just have to miss the end of the movie." He resolutely flipped the channel to a professional wrestling program.

"Oh, nyet, Yankee," she pleaded, reaching across him to grab the remote. He stretched his long arm up so that she struggled to reach the device. "I want to see the end! Do they ever find the money?"

"Yes," he said, deadpan, "and they kill Mr. Potter."

Linka groaned and redoubled her efforts to get the remote out of his hand. "_Eto ne pravda_. Stop lying. Let me have the remote."

"No way, babe."

She made a quick move and snatched the device from him. She jumped up from the sofa victoriously and changed the channel just as Janey started to play Auld Lang Syne.

"Oh, no you don't," said Wheeler, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her to the ground. She squealed and put up quite the fight against the much larger American. They wrestled for control for a few minutes before dissolving into helpless laughter.

Wheeler propped himself up on his elbow, his face mere inches from the Russian's. He studied her face intently, an appreciative smile lighting his blue eyes. Linka could feel the tell-tale blush begin to color her cheeks and looked away from him until he gently brushed a blond strand out of her eyes. She then met his gaze, unsure of what to do and curious to see what he would do next.

He bent lower and nuzzled her nose affectionately. The gentle gesture made her breath catch in her throat. A self-conscious smile touched her lips as she lay hypnotized by Wheeler's touch.

He did not hesitate. He quickly pressed his lips against hers and she gasped beneath him. She settled into the sensation slowly, as if she were stepping into too-warm bath water. Cautiously, she parted her lips against his and was rewarded with his warm, soft tongue against hers. The sensations were all-consuming as the world seemed to stop turning for a moment.

With typical bad timing, the other three Planeteers entered the hut. Wheeler and Linka broke away from their passionate embrace at the first sound of the door opening. They quickly hopped back onto the sofa, pretending that nothing had happened.

Unlike Wheeler, Linka had maintained that charade, acting as if nothing _had_ ever happened. She knew that it frustrated Wheeler tremendously, and, in the end, helped forge the dilemma they were in right now.

But it was her job to keep things together. It was her job to make sure the chemistry sparking between them did not interfere with their duties. It was, as always, her job to maintain control.

Her hand reached the bottom of the M&M bag. Panicked, she turned the bag upside down and realized it was empty. She had indeed eaten the entire bag.

_Bozhe moy_, she thought, how could I have done that? How could she have done that to her body? She had let her self control slip away once again.

She bolted into the bathroom and surveyed herself in the mirror. She could almost see jowls forming along her neck. She felt for the lumps of fat that were surely expanding her flat stomach. She felt heavy, weighed down. Her mind could barely think straight.

The panic was bubbling in her stomach and she hit the floor next to the toilet. She hung her head over the basin and emptied the contents of her stomach into the bowl. The feeling was disgusting and ugly, yet at the same time, cathartic. She felt like she was ridding herself of all the confusing emotions along with the bag of M&Ms.

After a few moments' rest, she slowly stood back up. She brushed hair away from her face where it had become plastered by sweat. She flushed and went to the sink to wash her face with cool water. The face she saw when she looked in the mirror looked alien to her. Dark circles marred the skin under her eyes and her skin had acquired an unusual pallor. As the nauseous feeling passed, she had a silent conversation with this new girl in the mirror. "You see," she chided, "this is what will happened to you if you cannot control yourself. You will be punished again. _Ponemayesh'_?"

As she left the bathroom, she ran into Gi, who was walking into the hut. "Hi!" the Asian girl smiled. Her smile quickly faded as she looked at her friend. "Linka, are you ok?"

Linka waved her hand dismissively. "Da, I am fine. Where is Ashra?"

Gi was still eyeing her worriedly, "She's in bed. We had a great time. Are you sure you're ok, girl? You look a little sick."

"Fine," she reassured, turning away a little too quickly. "I am just a little tired, that is all. It has been a busy week."

Gi smiled gently, recognizing the stress Wheeler's absence was causing for Linka. Maybe a little separation was what the two would need to recognize what they meant to one another. "Don't worry," she consoled. "Wheeler will be home soon."

"Gi, I do not care."

"Not saying that you do," said Gi. "Just stating a fact."

Linka gave a weak smile to her friend. "Right. I am off to bed. Good night, Gi."

"'Night, Linka," Gi replied. As she watched her friend walk off, she noticed the other girl looked different. She looked a little thinner. Had she been losing weight? But with her fight with Wheeler left unresolved, Gi supposed it was only natural that stress was wreaking havoc with her appetite. And she was running a lot more.

Gi shrugged. It would all be alright when Wheeler came home.


	10. Chapter 10

Happy Thanksgiving. Just a warning that this chapter does contain drug references, but it's very early on, so if you want to skip it, just scroll down. Otherwise, the folktale Kwame tells is indeed a tale from Liberia, lifted from the site http://www.phillipmartin.info/liberia/. It is used without permission.

Chapter X

After a few unsuccessful attempts, Rachel was finally able to place her key in her apartment door correctly. She pushed it open and turned on the lights. The place was a disaster. Clothes were strewn everywhere; take-out containers from various restaurants littered the floor. The carpet was a patchwork of different colored stains.

_I know I'm messy_, thought Wheeler as he warily entered, _but holy shit_.

The girl was snatching clothing items from her sofa. Once she had completely loaded her arms, she gestured with her head to the three men standing uncertainly in the doorway. "Go ahead, guys. Make yourselves at home."

Their apprehension was evident. Wheeler looked at the other two with a raised eyebrow, wondering if they should all split before Rachel came back from her room. Finally, one of her friends shrugged his shoulders and took a seat on the sofa, pulling a half-empty soda bottle out from under him. The other guy followed suit, making space for himself on her furniture. Wheeler, for his part, decided to remain standing.

Rachel emerged moments later, having removed her shoes and the huge silver hoop earrings she'd been wearing. She was holding a small box, which she carried with her to a space on the floor next to Wheeler. "I've been saving this for a special occasion," she smiled, opening the box and removing a tiny square of paper and a bag filled with dried green leaves. Wheeler's nose twitched as the scent of the leaves reached him. Marijuana.

The girl expertly filled the paper, rolled it tightly and licked it to seal it. Pleased with her handiwork, she held out the joint with a lighter to Wheeler. "Guest of honor," she grinned. "First hit."

But he waved it away with a shake of his head. "No thanks, Rachel. Not my thing."

She rolled her eyes. He was beginning to notice she did that a lot. It wasn't a particularly flattering habit. "Come on, Wheeler. Don't be such a wuss. What are you scared of?"

"Rachel, no thanks. It's not my thing."

One of the other guys chuckled. "Check out Mr. Morals," he laughed. "What, you get drug tested at your job or something, man? 'Cause some iron pills and a bottle of Powerade always do the trick…"

"No," Rachel chimed in, delighted to have a banter going, "he's probably got his head full of those DARE slogans." She held up her hands as if she were haunting him, "Ooooh, drugs are bad. Don't do drugs! Drugs are scary! Oooooh!"

"Actually," Wheeler said quietly, "he knew someone who OD'd once. And he knows someone who could have OD'd. So, yeah, it does kind of scare the hell out of me."

A silence fell over the group. Wheeler shuffled uncomfortably and looked down at a stain the color of orange soda on the carpet. After a moment, Rachel, unable to take the silence anymore, piped up. "But, it's only _pot_!"

Wheeler lifted his head to look the girl in the eye. "Just a road I don't wanna walk down, Rach." He turned around towards the door. "Hey, listen guys, have fun, alright? I'm out of here." And he walked out the door.

As he walked out, he couldn't help remember the look on Linka's face as Boris fell to the ground. It was horrible; he had never seen anyone die before. He had been strong for her, but inside his heart was racing. It could have been her. Easily. And then where would he be?

"Hey!"

Rachel's voice echoed as he was halfway down the hallway. He turned to face her as she ran up to him. "Why are you leaving, Wheeler?" Before he could answer, she continued. "Look, I'm sorry about the pot. It's not a big deal; I was just trying to be social. You don't have to smoke if you don't want."

He shook his head. "It's not just that. This…all this…just isn't my scene anymore." He stepped closer to her. "You're really cool and everything, Rachel. I did have fun. But it's not who I am. I'm sorry."

She reached her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "Would it make you change your mind," she said, her voice muffled in his chest, "if I promised there'd be boinking tonight?"

He gave a short laugh at that. "Sorry, not –"

"With me," she finished, smiling up at him.

"I was gonna say, 'Not tonight'."

"Maybe that's what you were gonna say," she said, stepping back from him. "But it wasn't what you were thinking."

Wheeler didn't respond, but silently acknowledged that she was right. He was with the wrong girl tonight.

"Keep in touch," Rachel said, walking back towards her apartment. "Good luck with all the 'saving the world' stuff."

"Thanks," he responded. "Take care of yourself, Rach."

"That's no fun!" came her reply as she closed her door.

As he made his way back to the Cruiser, Wheeler had to smile. There was a time, and not too long ago, when the night's outcome would have been entirely different. A couple of years ago he would not have been so willing to turn down the temptations he was faced with tonight. It was oddly sad to realize that part of his life was really over. So, despite constant jokes the others made to the contrary, maybe he had grown up a bit. He was starting to look at things in terms of the future and not just the present. And he had to admit, he really felt he had a lot to look forward to.

He was not going to let the present debacle with Linka deter him. After all, it was certainly not their first altercation. He could even remember all the way back to the first time he saw her. All of a sudden, he had been whisked away from Brooklyn and taken to a tropical island. There he was, confused, disoriented, and standing next to this gorgeous blonde with sparkling blue-green eyes. He remembered staring at her, unabashedly, as if he couldn't believe something so beautiful existed.

With the tactlessness of youth, he had thrown out a line. Hit on her with some comment about her accent. Asked, stupidly, if she was Russian.

And she had cut him down. She corrected his ignorance and pushed him away. It would become a theme throughout their tumultuous friendship. And yet, even that had been intriguing. Most of the girls he knew at that point were more like Rachel. Like Trish. In search of self esteem through conquest, trying to be the bad girls that the guys around them sought. Wheeler had sought girls like that himself, back in the day.

But now, how things had changed. He wasn't looking for a pot-smoking, game-for-anything girl anymore. He wanted someone to rein him in. Someone to make him think. Someone he could laugh with. Someone he could wrestle on the floor on Christmas Eve with _It's a Wonderful Life_ on in the background.

_Man_, he thought, warmth flooding him at the all-too-vivid memory, _if the others hadn't walked in right then_…

If there was a single certainty in his life, it was that he loved Linka. It was a reality that he had come to terms with a long time ago – five years and counting, by his estimate. And every day it stabbed at him, hurting in an almost physical way. Because the second reality of the situation was that she didn't love him back – not that he could see, anyway. She had pretended like Christmas Eve never happened. She had attacked him for being affectionate with her in Africa. And it was these times that made him want to pack it in.

But, then again, there were times when he would catch her looking at him. Just little, stolen glances. And he would see something remarkable. Affection. Tenderness. Attraction. He could have sworn that she loved him right back. And it was those moments that made him want to drop to his knee and propose, right on the spot.

_Wow_, he thought, shaking his head as he guided the Cruiser southward towards Hope Island. _I'm definitely not the same kid who got thrown out of The Docks_. And that, he realized, was probably a good thing.

So things were a little bad right now. They had been bad in the past. This was just another roadblock. Simply time to find another route. Things would start looking up again.

XXXXX

Ashra yawned as she walked into her tiny bedroom. Her mind was filled with images of the mythical figures looking down at them from the sky. She thought of brave Perseus, killing the evil, ugly Medusa and of Casseopeia – the African queen who was so proud of her beauty that she was forced to spend half the year upside down in the heavens. Gi had shared so many stories and showed her how to locate the North Star. It was that star, Gi had said, that sailors used to find their ways home.

Ashra quietly sighed. She missed home so much. Not her life in Plunder's camp, but home before. Before the Janjaweed, before all the anger and hatred leaning heavily on their lives. She missed home in the grasslands, where she would watch Ankola cattle grazing, their huge horns dipping towards the ground as they ate. She missed the gazelles, the zebras, and the funny-looking ostriches that ran awkwardly across the landscape.

But mostly, she missed her parents. She had always looked forward to bedtime when she was little. Her mother would sit by her bed and tell her stories about powerful chiefs and beautiful princesses. Sometimes she would sing. There would be silly songs about animals having parties in the jungle. And sometimes there would be beautiful songs about the path of the river and the blessings of the Earth. There had been songs about Gaia, who now took such good care of her. She looked exactly like the goddess her mother sang about – beautiful and graceful, with cocoa colored skin and long, flowing hair.

As she settled into her little bed, Kwame walked into the room to check on her. He smiled kindly at her. "Did you have a nice day, Ashra?"

She fought off a yawn, but to no avail. "Yes," she said, the word lengthened by her sleepiness. "Gi showed me all the stars and told me the stories in the sky."

Kwame sat down next to her on her bed. "That is wonderful. You should listen to Gi. She is very smart and will teach you much."

Ashra nodded slowly. She glanced away from the young man, a faraway look in her eyes. "It reminds me of my mama. She would tell stories to me like Gi did." The girl closed her eyes. "I miss Mama."

The words stung Kwame's heart. How tragic that this little girl must endure such terrible mistreatment and all without a parent standing by her. She had truly lost everything, yet her dignity was preserved, and it shone from her like sunrise. "So," he said, placing a comforting hand on the child's head. "have you heard the story of the girl and the spider?"

Ashra shook her head and looked up at him in anticipation.

Kwame began: "This is a story from the people of Liberia, on the West Coast of Africa. They have been through many hardships, as your people in Sudan have. But they are a strong people. In fact, Liberia is the first country in Africa to elect a woman as president."

The girl's eyes widened, a surprised smile lighting her small face. "A woman president?"

Kwame smiled back. "Yes, Ashra. There is no reason that a girl cannot dream of leading her people. Whether you are male or female does not matter; it is your willingness to do what is right that is important. And my story tonight is about a very clever little girl and a crafty spider.

"There was once a young girl from a village far way who had a special talent for finding the very best foods in the bush. Her oranges were just a little sweeter, her plums just a little larger, and her bananas had just a little more flavor. Everyone wondered where she located such delicious fruits. But, nobody ever asked the girl about her secrets of the bush. That is, nobody asked her after they heard the story about Spider and this young girl.

"One day Spider asked this young girl to help him look for food. He was too lazy to work for himself and was sure he could trick this girl into sharing her secrets. He didn't know how clever this girl could be.

"'Little girl, nobody finds fruits as sweet as yours,' cooed the spider. 'Will you please take me with you when you go looking in the bush?'

"'I've never done that before,' replied the girl.

"'It would mean so much if you could do it one time,' pleaded Spider.

"'Well, I suppose I can do it just once,' agreed the girl. 'Do you promise to keep my secrets?'

"'You can trust me,' promised the lazy spider.

"'What do you like to eat?'

"'Well, I like plums and bananas, of course, but I especially love honey.'

"'I think I can help you,' grinned the girl.

"Spider couldn't believe his luck. The girl led Spider along the path into the bush. She took him down trails into areas where people rarely ever go. Spider grinned because he knew he was about to learn her secret places for finding the very best food. After learning this, he would never again have to work hard for good food.

"'This plum tree,' explained the girl, 'does not have much fruit so most people ignore it, but its plums are the sweetest ones in all of the bush.'

"Now Spider was just as greedy as he was lazy. As soon as the young girl showed him the secret plums, his eyes became wide and his mouth began to water. Then, Spider shoved the little girl into the bushes. He rushed past her and climbed up into the tree. Then, he ate every single one of the plums. He didn't even leave one plum for the little girl. And, he didn't even say thank you!

"After his feast, Spider rubbed his very full belly and thought, 'This is the best day of my life! What a great idea! I can't believe she showed me where her plums are found. I wonder if she will take me to any bananas? She must be very foolish.'

"Spider looked down at the girl with his biggest smile and she asked politely, 'Do you want any of my special bananas?'

"He raced down out of the tree before the girl could change her mind.

"The girl continued down the path showing Spider her secrets of the bush. They walked further down the trail into areas where people rarely ever go. 'Over here is a small patch of the very best bananas,' declared the young girl. Again, as soon as Spider learned the secret, his eyes became wide and his mouth began to water. Again, he shoved the little girl into the bushes. He rushed past her and climbed the banana plants. He ate every single one of the ripe bananas. Again, he left the young girl with nothing -- not even one banana. And once again, he didn't even say thank you!

"His belly was so full, but Spider was not satisfied. He wanted to learn more of the secret places of the bush. He thought to himself, 'This girl is really foolish. But, as long as she guides me, I will continue to eat all of her food.'

"Again, Spider looked down at the little girl and smiled. Once again, the young girl looked up at Spider and politely asked, 'Are you too full or would you like to find some honey?'

"One more time, Spider rushed out of the tree and followed the girl down the trail before she had a chance to change her mind.

"The young girl guided Spider deeper and deeper into the bush where people rarely ever go. 'Over here,' she instructed, 'is a very special tree. Deep inside a small hole is the most delicious honey in all of the bush.'

"Now this girl was not nearly as foolish as Spider thought. She had a plan to teach this greedy spider a lesson. She remembered that Spider loved honey and was not surprised at all when his eyes became wide and his mouth started to water. She also wasn't surprised when he shoved her into the bushes, ran past her, climbed up the tree, and squeezed into the hole. Again, he ate all of the sweet golden honey, sharing nothing with the young girl. He didn't even share one drop. And once again, he didn't even say thank you.

"When Spider had eaten his fill, he tried to climb out of the tree but he couldn't get out the hole. His stomach had grown too large. He was stuck!

"'Help me, young girl,' cried the spider. 'I cannot get out of the tree!'

"'You wouldn't be stuck if you hadn't been so selfish,' scolded the girl.

"'I'm sorry for what I did! Please call for help,' cried Spider.

"'I am not as foolish as you think. You aren't sorry for what you did. You are only sorry you are caught in the tree.'

"'No, you're wrong,' lied the spider but in his heart he knew she was right. He had enjoyed every minute, every bite of food, as long as he thought he was tricking the young girl. He never expected his idea to turn into such a problem for him. 'Please call for help! I am trapped!'

"Finally, a smile crossed over the little girl's face and she said she would do as the spider asked. She cried for help -- as softly as she could, 'Help! Help! The foolish spider is caught inside the honey tree. Help! Somebody come and help this greedy spider!' Of course, nobody could hear her whispers for help. And, nobody could hear Spider's cries from deep inside the tree. They were too far into the bush where people rarely ever go.

"Finally, the little girl looked up at Spider with a clever grin. 'Good bye, Spider, I am going to get some huge oranges for my family. If you want to eat some, just follow me there.' She waved to him as she left to go down the trail. That is where my story ends."

The soft sound of Ashra's breathing indicated that the girl had fallen asleep. Kwame stood up as gently as he could, so as not to disturb her. His heart warmed as he watched the little girl sleeping peacefully. He was about to turn out the light when he heard her voice behind him. "Kwame?"

"Yes?" he whispered.

"That spider was mean and greedy," she said, "but the little girl was wise. She used his greediness to catch him."

Kwame nodded, pleased that she understood the moral so well. "That is right, Ashra."

She gave a huge yawn and continued drowsily. "It is like Mr. Plunder. He is like the spider. And we are like the wise girl. We can use his greediness to catch him."

"You are right. That is a very smart thought. But now, it is time for sleep. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Kwame."

As he softly shut the door, he turned and almost bumped into an excited Gi. "Guess what!" she said.

Kwame lifted a finger to indicate she should keep her voice hushed. "What?" he whispered.

Gi clasped a hand over her mouth and then continued quietly. "Kim called. His director is going to help us." She grinned broadly, "We're heading for DC in two days! It's time we take Plunder down!"


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter XI

Many people assumed that meditation, because it is so peaceful and still, is quite easy. How hard was it to not think? Most people walked around their whole lives with barely a single thought in their heads. There was even a word for them: celebrities.

All joking aside, Ma-Ti always found himself at a loss to explain meditation to someone who had not only never experienced it, but also had never even tried. Passively not thinking really meant not thinking about anything important. It really meant thinking about which swear world to scrawl across a piece of paper to get a reaction, or which brand of candy would taste good about now, or whether one contestant or another would be voted off this week's reality program. Sure, that kind of not thinking was easy.

Meditation, however, was better characterized as actively non-thinking. It required tremendous effort and flawless concentration to reach the state he was reaching for. Thoughts of friends, of family, of work, needed to be let go like balloons in the wind. Each thought was passed by deliberately; Ma-Ti's agile mind had been well trained to filter out any distractions. His mind rested comfortably in a state of quiet observance of the world around him without him in it.

He waited for it: that moment when his mind would be at its most aware. In that moment, he would be able to best sense the person who needed their help most in the world. In this state, all personal attachments, all sense of loyalty would fade to the periphery, and nothing would be left but feelings. "Heart."

The warm waves of his power flowed outwards from his center. Nothing could impede him, not his opinions, not his emotions. He was no longer merely living in the world; he was a part of it. And the world knew when its beings were sad. Not the way a mother knows, but the way the brain knows when a finger is burned. Instant. Intrinsic. He waited, letting the feeling come to him.

And he felt it. He felt it so strongly that his heart felt as though it were on fire. There was the one being who needed them more than anyone else. A cataclysm of sadness and loss, of regret and guilt. This being's soul was brimming with despair.

Ma-Ti's eyes opened with a start. Mfuto.

He was up on his feet before his mind had fully regained its sense of reality. His strong legs carried him quickly into the Crystal Chamber with his long hair like a cape behind him. Gaia looked up as he entered, her violet eyes shadowed, saddened. She had sensed it too.

"Gaia," he began, "what happened to him?" His intense connection with the African man had acquainted him with the man's deepest fears and sorrows, but told him nothing of his situation. Given the feelings, however, Ma-Ti could reasonably harbor a guess.

"Mfuto has lost everything," Gaia whispered, a mother troubled over her child's pain. "His wife died in labor with their daughter. He sacrificed everything, including, he feels, down to his very soul, to help her deliver safely. Plunder's money supported his every effort to help her. And he has been left with nothing."

The bond Ma-Ti's power had forged was slowly subsiding. The pain became less sharp, and Ma-Ti was able to draw his breath. He took in what Gaia said, and, though it saddened him deeply, part of him was still thinking of Ashra. Part of him still thought of her bloodied face, of the smirking guards from behind the camp. Mfuto had betrayed them.

Part of him was glad for it. _Perhaps…what he deserved…_

The angry thought shocked him. He looked up at Gaia, realizing that the Spirit had heard his unbidden thought. His lack of sympathy felt astonishing and a sickly sense of guilt crept upon him. "Gaia, I'm so sorry…"

The Spirit regarded him gently. "Thoughts are not actions, Ma-Ti. Thoughts are not convictions unless they are purified and cultivated and shaped into ideals. You are a good person, Ma-Ti. A great man. But you are still only human."

"But you are not."

"Thankfully, no. And because of that privilege, I will be able to bring Mfuto here in the morning. He wants to help you. You must help the others let go of their anger, their mistrust. Let him vindicate himself." She placed a translucent hand on his head. "You can all heal each other."

XXXXX

Kim's frustrations were mounting as the bureaucracy in the United States government dragged him around. He had already been forwarded to eight different extensions while trying to discern which committee would be handling the illegal poaching and labor argument. Each time he got through to one line, he was greeted by a bored-sounding individual, whose voice could only be described as grey. Kim would introduce himself as an ambassador from Amnesty International, state his intentions to file suit against an American industrialist, and the grey voice would say, "Sorry, we don't handle those claims. I'll need to transfer you to so-and-so's department. Hold please."

And Kim did. And had heard enough Hootie and the Blowfish and Celine Dion muzak to tide him over for years to come.

Grey voice number nine picked up the line. "Labor disputes, hold please."

"No!" shouted Kim, indignantly. "No, I will not hold! I am calling from Bangkok, Thailand. Do you know how far away I am?"

"Sir," the voice retorted evenly, "I am going to have to ask you to calm down."

"You can ask me," said Kim, "but I will not calm down." Kim sighed heavily and ran a hand through his spiky black hair. "I have an important issue I need to handle with the U.S. government. There is a U.S. citizen who has been using illegal labor practices in central Africa."

"I thought you were in Asia, sir."

"Yes! I'm in…" Kim began to shout, then deliberately regained his composure. "Yes, I am in Asia. However, I am an ambassador for Amnesty International, which is a non-governmental organization, which means we do not necessarily work for any government…"

That last part came out a little condescending, Kim realized. The voice realized it, too, as it let out a scoff. "Sir, I _know_ what non-governmental means."

"Of course you do. Of course you do," Kim said quickly. Insulting this government worker would not do him any good. The road through the bureaucracy may be narrow, he realized, but throwing a boulder in the way would not be conducive to his situation. Even though cutting loose on this voice would feel _really_ good. "My name is Tangme Kim. I am contacting you on behalf of Amnesty International as an entity. We have evidence of various labor violations committed by a U.S. citizen in Chad."

"What kinds of claims?" the voice asked. Kim could hear the sound of keys being punched on a computer. The worker was taking down his information. He was getting somewhere.

"First, there is the murdering of dozens of lions in the savannah for use of their pelts. As an addendum, he is selling these pelts in the underground market. Second there is the use of child labor. Most of the workers are under the age of ten and are making less than fifty American cents a day."

"Children?" the voice murmured.

Kim's tone softened. "Yes, very small children. Children of refugees."

The other end was silent for a moment. "I have children. Two boys. Ages eight and six."

"Then you understand," Kim breathed. Finally, someone who would listen. "And this brings me to my third and most horrendous point. There is evidence of widespread starvation and abuse in the work camps. I know of someone who has witnessed a young girl being raped by guards at the site."

"Oh, my God."

Kim buried his face in his hands, overcome with relief. He had an ally.

"Sir, do you have the name of the…the _person_ committing these crimes."

"Yes," Kim responded. "He is a businessman by the name of Luten Plunder."

The line again fell quiet. "Sir, did you say 'Plunder'?"

"Yes, do you know of him?"

"I'm afraid I can't help you, sir," the voice spoke rapidly, touched with regret. "I believe you're going to have to deal with Rick's office on this one."

Kim felt his heart sink, but clung to a modicum of hope. "Who's Rick?"

"He's a senator. He just proposed a bill that's in committee – a bill dealing with labor in Africa, actually."

"So, he'll be able to help me?" Kim asked hopefully. "He knows what Plunder is up to? He'll help us shut him down?"

The voice gave a doleful chuckle. "Sir, the senator is Mr. Plunder's top campaign contribution beneficiary." Then, more gently, "I hope you have enough heart for the fight ahead of you, Mr. Tangme Kim. You have an uphill battle, but it's one worth winning."

The line went dead. Kim put his head down on his desk. He couldn't wait to see Gi again. He needed her strength to get him through this.

XXXXX

Wheeler awoke the next morning feeling refreshed. He felt like a new man. The whole Rachel deal had truly put things in perspective for him. He had slept well the night before, and had had several dreams featuring his favorite subject. It felt good; he'd been missing those dreams for the past week or so.

He rose and looked in the mirror. Considering his late night, he looked pretty good, if he did say so himself. He grinned at his reflection and tried out a few of his favorite faces: the "Puppy Dog," the "Dashing Hero," the "Come Hither". That last one never worked quite right.

He braced his hands on his dresser and regarded himself intently. "Figured something out last night, didn't ya, pilgrim?" he asked himself, his voice pulling a weak John Wayne impression. "Well, the way I see it, ya got another chance. Today's a new day, and all that crap."

Wheeler leaned in closer, almost pressing his nose against the glass. Mr. Wayne continued: "Ya know there's a – a real purty girl who lives right down the hall from ya, pilgrim. And as much as ya'd like ta rush down there, 'n' grab 'er up and bang 'er into next Tuesday, ya gotta play it right."

He looked down, and dropped the mildly inaccurate imitation. "'Cause she's better than that. And what's more, she makes _you_ better than that. So get your goddamn hormones under control and treat her like she deserves. Make her realize that you love her."

He grinned wolfishly into the mirror again as John Wayne made a quick return. "Then, ya can bang 'er into next Tuesday!"

XXXXX

Linka had carefully labeled all their evidence and she purposefully loaded everything they would need into the Geo-Cruiser. It had been a while since she'd been in the American capital. In fact, she hadn't been there since…since…

She blinked at the memory. The Capitol steps. The pills. Boris.

_Koncheno_, she thought, banishing the images. It was over and done with long ago. Instead, she occupied her mind with other details. When would she be able to run while they were on assignment? Perhaps she would simply wake up early in the morning. She could set an alarm for 4:30, get in a good hour and a half before the others woke up. Or she could sneak away in the middle of the night. She'd just need to check around to be sure the area was safe.

It would be difficult, to say nothing of the eating situation. The others would surely notice that her habits had changed. Gi would know. So would Wheeler, with his irritatingly keen sense of observation when it came to her. She would just need to be careful, drink a lot of water.

Suddenly, a pair of hands was helping her lift her box into the Cruiser. Wheeler. _Konyeshno_.

"Hey, babe, you doing all the heavy lifting on your own?"

She pinned him with a cool gaze. "It is not so heavy, Yankee. I am fine. I do not need help."

He raised an eyebrow. "I know you don't _need_ help, but I thought I'd offer. You know, make it go a little faster."

She shrugged. The two finished loading boxes of documentation into the Cruiser. Wheeler leaned against the vehicle, crossing his arms over his chest and regarding her intently. "You OK, Linka?"

She blushed and looked down at her feet. "Da, I am fine. I guess I have not been getting enough sleep. What about you?" she asked, quickly changing the subject. "I imagine you got in pretty late last night. Did you have a good time with your _padrooga_?"

Wheeler's eyes narrowed for a second as he tried to remember that translation. _Droog_ was friend ("Clockwork Orange" had taught him that), but _padrooga_ was related. He seemed to remember her using it before. What had she said? _What do you want from me, Yankee? Do you want me to be your _padrooga_? Because I will tell you it is a waste of time…_

"You knew?" he asked.

Linka let a curse slip and bit her full bottom lip. Who would have thought Wheeler would remember that word? Irritating sense of observation.

"It is none of my business, Wheeler."

"Look, babe, I'm really sorry. I was just so pissed off at the situation. I mean, I don't know what else I can do to let you know how I feel about you." He took a step towards her and gazed at her. She had her arms folded tightly against her and her aqua eyes would not meet his. He reached out and placed a hand on her upper arm, trying to comfort her, to let her know that he'd figured it out and everything was going to be OK.

Linka shrugged his hand away as if it were burning her. She did not want to be touched, not by him right now. She was just getting things under control.

Her quick reaction stung Wheeler deeply. He felt the tears start to form in his throat as his anger and hurt duked it out to be the prevailing emotion. Anger won. "What the hell, Lin-"

He trailed off as he noticed a tall man walking towards them. Despite his height, his stature was hunched into that of a broken man. As he got closer, his face became recognizable.

"Mfuto?" gasped Linka.

Gi, Kwame, and Ma-Ti were not far behind him, with Ashra holding Gi's hand tightly. As they approached, Ma-Ti put a hand on Mfuto's slouched shoulder.

"What. The fuck. Is he doing here?" snarled Wheeler.

Mfuto raised his head and turned to Ma-Ti. The younger man nodded, letting him know it was OK. "I would like to make reconciliation."

"Reconciliation?" Wheeler rounded on the man, forgetting momentarily about Linka's rebuff. "You could have gotten us killed, do you realize that? We were lucky to get out of there alive!" He lowered his voice. "They raped Ashra, you know. She's just a fuckin' kid and they raped her."

Mfuto then began to cry. The sobs racked his body as the tears came in soul-wrenching torrents. He dropped to his knees. "I am so sorry. I am so sorry. Please, let me make things right!"

Kwame and Gi hung back, regarding him sadly. Ashra let out a small whimper and began to cry softly. Kwame hoisted her into his arms and held her. "It is OK, Ashra. Do not cry."

Linka stepped up next to Wheeler, her arms still tightly folded. She watched the man cry for a moment. She shook her head. "Why?"

Mfuto breathed deeply, trying to control his sobs. "My wife. She was carrying our firstborn. It is so dangerous to have a baby in Chad right now. Many children die."

"Yeah, well many children might die because of what you did, you piece of…"

"Wheeler," warned Gi, shaking her head reproachfully.

"I wanted to provide my wife with clean linen, good midwives, clean water," Mfuto continued. "I needed money to ensure her safety. She was so good to me. She would be a good mother."

The group fell silent. Then, Wheeler: "Was it worth it?"

"No," Mfuto hung his head. "Our daughter died. My wife is dead. I have nothing left except to make this right." Tears began to well in his eyes again. "Let me help you."

Ashra was fussing in Kwame's arms, so he set the child down. She walked cautiously towards Mfuto, who had buried his face in his hands. She placed her tiny hand on the man's back. "It's alright," she murmured, kneeling next to him. "Don't cry."

Wheeler watched the scene and felt pity creeping into his attitude. "OK, OK," he said. "I guess you're coming to DC with us."

Mfuto grasped Ashra's hand and allowed the girl to help him to his feet. "I will do whatever I can."

The craft was soon in the air with its seven passengers, headed towards a showdown with Plunder once again.


	12. Chapter 12

Notes:

1. Schoolhouse Rock -- I hope I'm not the only one who remembers it.

2. I'm quite pleased with this chapter. Please let me know if you are as well, or if I'm a major disappointment.

3. So, the Penguins -- looking pretty good, right! Ah, sports are back in the 'Burgh!

Chapter XII

The knock at the door came at 6:30 in the evening. "Room service."

Plunder sat contentedly at the small table in the luxury hotel suite. After several weeks of roughing it in Africa, the swanky Georgetown accommodations were certainly proving more adequate. He glanced down at his watch and noted the ivory minute hand was hovering over the 6.

Another knock. Another pleasant yet more insistent "Room service!"

Plunder looked over at his compatriot who was arranging bullets by size, weight, and death toll on the nearby desk. "Bleak, why don't you answer the door?"

The bald man stood up slowly, mumbling something about never being able to find the right bloody bullet when he needed it. He threw open the suite door. "Yeah?"

A small, cheerful-looking man in a neat gray uniform looked back at him. "Uh…" the man began, clearly startled by Bleak's overbearing presence. "I have room service for this suite? Let's see…" he produced a list from among the neatly-arranged silver-topped dishes. "Two bottles of Dom Perignon, three Ankola cattle steaks, one medium, one mid-rare, one mooing…" The man gave a small laugh, but seeing that Bleak was unamused, cleared his throat and continued: "A large side of truffles, and three Cuban cigars." The man replaced the list and grinned up at Bleak expectantly. "Total's $750," he raised his eyebrows, "plus gratuity."

Bleak regarded the man silently until the smaller man's self-assured smile faded and he looked down uncomfortably.

The muscle-man called out. "Right. Mr. Plunder? This fellow says we got to pay him 750 smackers," he glared at the man condescendingly. "Plus gratuity."

Plunder pushed away from the table where he'd been swirling his Bombay and tonic. "Is that right, Bleak? Then I suppose we should pay him…" He walked to the door, and then glanced at his watch again. "Oh," he said, holding out the expensive timepiece for the hotel worker to see. "Look at that. I'm afraid you were due to deliver our food at 6:30 on the dot. Is that right?"

"Well…yes," the man started, looking at his own watch. 6:32.

"Then you see we have a problem, my fine young man," Plunder continued, "for my watch says 6:32. That's a bit past 6:30, isn't it?"

"Well…_yes_," stammered the man again, "but when I knocked, it was…"

Bleak made a tsk-tsk noise with his tongue. "I wouldn't stand for it, Mr. Plunder. This hotel should be grateful for your business and not send your room service late."

"Yes, it does seem as though good help is exceedingly hard to find these days." He patted his bodyguard's shoulder. "Present company excepted, Bleak."

Bleak sneered. "But what about him?" he asked, gesturing to the man now fidgeting nervously with his tie."

Plunder addressed the man. "This is a reputable hotel, is it not?"

"Oh yes," the man responded, "one of the best!"

"Then I would believe that the management, being reasonable representatives of this reputable establishment would not expect a valued guest to pay for such a tardy meal."

The man's face fell. "Please, sir," he pleaded quietly, "I'll lose my job over this bill."

Plunder shrugged. "I am a successful businessman. I know that paying for unsatisfactory goods or services is not good practice. Your self-imposed misfortune is none of my affair. Good night, young man."

The worker opened his mouth, and then closed it. His face was red as tears threatened in his eyes. With his head down, he slowly began to push the cart of food away from the suite until he heard a voice behind him.

"Oi!"

He looked back to see Bleak still standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. "Where do you think you're taking all that?"

The man looked down at his cart in confusion. "But, I thought…I thought you didn't…" He sighed and pushed the cart back to the suite.

Once Bleak had ushered the cart in and resolutely flipped the door tag to read Do Not Disturb, the young man walked dejectedly down the hallway, weighing future employment options.

XXXXX

DC was beautiful at night.

As he guided the Geo Cruiser closer to the capital city, Kwame took in the grandeur of the place. This was his first time flying in at night and he was amazed at the scene before him. The Washington Monument stood like a lightning rod, illuminated with bright, white light. Just beyond, the Capitol and the Lincoln Memorial continued the line of illumination. All around, light reflected off the delicate flowers of the cherry blossom trees. A gift from Japan, Kwame remembered. A beautiful symbol of international peace and harmony.

And yet, he knew just beyond his view, within shouting range of the steps where Martin Luther King, Jr. had spoke of his dream, the darkness was providing cover for a multitude of crimes. People were being mugged, robbed, and shot in the darkness of DC at night. Such a contradiction of the hope that the city symbolized for many people.

He sighed and looked over to Gi, who was sitting next to him. While everyone else was sleeping or reading quietly, the Asian girl was full of energy. She was nervously glancing at herself in her compact mirror, arranging her hair and applying and re-applying various lip-glosses. Kwame had never seen the girl preen so intently. He shook his head, amused.

Gi caught his smirk and grinned back at him sheepishly. "I'm pretty bad, huh?"

Kwame laughed quietly. "He must be quite special. I have never seen you so excited. At least, not over something that was truly _your_ business for once!"

The girl gave a look of mock hurt. "Ouch! A little rude there, o fearless leader!" But she could not keep herself from sneaking a look over the top of her headrest at the others. Ma-Ti had fallen asleep with Ashra on his lap, clutching a teddy bear. Mfuto tossed fitfully, struggling through his tortured sleep. _Poor guy_, thought Gi.

That left Linka and Wheeler. Both of them were awake. Both sported white ear buds attached to iPods. Linka had a book open; Wheeler seemed interested in looking out the window and sulking. Again.

Gi turned back around and looked over at Kwame. She gave a dramatic thumbs down.

"That bad?" asked Kwame.

Gi sighed laboriously. "I just don't get it. You know, we've all known each other for five years, and in that time, we've all been out on dates. And usually, we just tease each other, like family. I mean…Alyssa?"

Kwame gave his friend a threatening look. "Do not start," he warned.

"What were you thinking?" she teased gently. She then shook her head. "But it's a nightmare when one of them goes on a date. Linka just fumes and Wheeler seems ready to punch the walls!"

"He did, once," Kwame reminded her. Linka had been invited to a ball to raise money for the Audubon Society. Wheeler had noticed the neckline of the dress she was wearing and managed to add a new window to his hut.

"Yeah, exactly!" Gi exclaimed. "I just don't like what it does to them. To all of us. It's got to stop soon, or else I'll do something drastic, like locking them in the closet or spiking their drinks, or…"

"You know we are about to land, right, Gi?" Kwame interrupted.

The girl gasped and grabbed her compact, flashing pout into the small mirror.

Kwame shook his head again and brought the Cruiser in for a landing.

XXXXX

Union Station was jumping for a weekday night. Official-looking businessmen were walking briskly through the halls towards the trains and metro tracks below. People meandered in and out of shops toting plastic bags loaded with souvenirs. The coffee shops were packed with locals, tourists, and tired travelers, discussing Iraq and Anna Nicole Smith over non-fat, half-caff, double hot mocha lattes. With whipped cream.

The activity swirled around Kim, who sat in the main hall. He steepled his fingers and drummed them together, anxious for the first sign of the Planeteers. There was much to discuss, they had so much to do. And while he tried to convince himself that his excitement was just willingness to get the process of prosecuting Plunder underway, his ulterior motive hugged and kissed him in his mind's eye.

Kim was startled from his thoughts by a tapping sensation on the top of his head. He ignored it, yet seconds later, he felt it again. He placed a hand on his head and noticed his hair was damp. The drops were coming more quickly now and Kim looked up to notice a sprinkler dripping above him. One last drop touched his upturned face. It landed on his lips, like a kiss.

Gi.

Sure enough, Kim turned around to see the young woman behind him with her ring positioned towards the sprinkler. She laughed delightedly and ran towards him.

They embraced ferociously as the others hung back to allow the couple a private greeting. Wheeler glanced from the amorous duo to Linka, who was examining the floor at her feet. He waited until he caught her eye, and then looked away. Immature, sure. But he would bet money that it would piss her off.

Kim was holding Gi tightly. "I have missed you so much!" he said.

"Me too," replied Gi, "I've missed you too."

He sighed and pressed his lips against her forehead. "You know, we have got a lot to do. There is so much I need to tell you about."

"I know," she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder, "but for now, can you just shut up and hold me?"

Kim laughed and decided he'd hold her as long as she wanted.

XXXXX

Eventually, they all made their way to a coffee shop – fair trade, Ma-Ti had noted happily. After settling Ashra in a seat with a hot chocolate, they found a large table and began strategizing.

"My boss had to pull some strings," Kim was saying, "but we'll be able to attend a hearing on Darfur in the Senate Chamber tomorrow. They are debating a bill known as S. 199 with a rider clause dealing with labor practices in Africa."

"So, what's the plan?" asked Wheeler, playing with his now-empty mochaccino cup. "I mean, what's the deal with the bill? 'Cause the way it goes is, a bill gets voted on in the Senate, then it's either vetoed or it's approved by the president. Then it becomes a law."

The others gaped at him. Wheeler was explaining the legislative process? But the American just shrugged. "You know, it's like," he cleared his throat, then sang quietly, "Oh, I hope and pray that they will, but today, I am still Just A Bill…"

At the others' uncomprehending silence, he continued weakly, "Sittin' here on Capitol Hill?" Getting no reaction, he folded his arms and frowned. "Forget it. You guys suck."

Ma-Ti turned back to Kim. "_Anyway_. What does the bill involve?"

Kim opened his laptop to retrieve the information. "We believe that it is meant to eliminate labor regulation of American businesses in Africa. If the bill were approved, which the president seems ready to do, American entrepreneurs would not have to adhere to American laws when operating in Africa. Things that are illegal here…"

"Like poaching and sweatshops?" offered Gi, starting to get the picture.

"…would be OK in Africa," Kim finished.

"_Bozhe moy_," gasped Linka, with a look of disgust. "How could anyone approve such a measure?"

"Well, I talked with someone in the labor department who said that this guy Rick – he's the senator sponsoring this. And guess who his biggest financial contributor is."

"Plunder," Kwame said, angrily.

Mfuto had been sitting quietly, observing the situation. He did not really know much about politics and he felt a bit out of his depth. His attention was drawn to Ashra. The little girl was swinging her legs in the large chair, trying, with some difficulty, to drink her hot chocolate. She would attempt a sip, make a face as the beverage burned her tongue, then put the cup down and glare at it.

He had not been able to save his wife – the woman who had been his rock for years. He regretted not being able to tell her how much he loved her, how much he cherished her. He thought of the tiny white bundle by his wife's bedside in the midwives' tent.

Ashra finally managed a good sip of hot chocolate. She looked happily towards Mfuto and gave him a chocolaty grin.

"What about in Africa?" he asked quietly.

The others fell silent as Mfuto spoke up for the first time. They looked at him with obvious surprise. The man had not said a word since leaving Hope Island.

"What do you mean, 'What about in Africa'?" Wheeler demanded. He still didn't trust this guy.

"You spoke of how this bill would make it legal for Americans to operate illegal business in Africa," he said, addressing Kim.

Kim nodded, "Yes, essentially."

Mfuto held up his hand. "But that assumes that the practices would be accepted in Africa. That they would have to be legal there, correct?"

"Correct."

"The people of Chad are not fools. They do not want to see animals killed for pelts nor do they want to see children in forced labor. They simply make do with what they feel are necessary conditions."

"So," began Kwame, "if we could create a backlash against such practices in Africa…"

"Then no matter what Plunder does, he will be unsuccessful," concluded Mfuto.

Kwame nodded, regarding Mfuto with a new respect, "Then Mfuto and I will go to Africa to work from there. Ma-Ti, you come too. We may have need of your Heart power."

Ma-Ti jumped to his feet. "Right."

"You could use support," said Kim, already typing on his laptop. "I can have a contingency of workers from AI and Medecins Sans Frontieres to meet you in Chad. Let the people know there is hope beyond sweatshops."

Kwame smiled at Kim and then at Gi, who was watching him proudly. _Nice choice, Gi_, he thought. "Excellent. The rest of you will stay here and prepare of the hearing. We will attack this issue on two fronts." He looked to Ashra, whose face had become a milky mess. "And we cannot afford to lose."

The others walked Kwame, Ma-Ti, and Mfuto to the Geo Cruiser to wish them luck. As they waited for Kwame to prepare the vehicle, Wheeler regarded Mfuto warily. "It was a good idea you had, man," he said, "but if you cause trouble again, I swear to God, I will not hold back."

Mfuto looked down, accepting his distrust. "I understand. Although I have nothing to gain by betraying you. I have lost everything." He breathed deeply as the memory of his wife filled his mind again. "You are a young man. You have so much in your life. You have a woman you love?"

Wheeler stared at him, startled. It was his turn to look down, self-consciously. "Yeah."

Mfuto placed a hand on his shoulder as Wheeler again met his gaze. "Be sure that she knows. Be sure you let her know the feelings in your heart." Tears were welling in Mfuto's eyes. "Because time is short, my friend. And what you thought was eternity can end so quickly."

He patted Wheeler's shoulder once again before climbing into the Cruiser and departing for Africa with Kwame and Ma-Ti.

With Gi and Kim arm-in-arm, Wheeler hung back with Linka, who was obviously still not speaking to him. He took his time looking at her, taking in every bit of her beauty until he noticed her blush, but still said nothing.

_I love you_, he thought, trying out the phrase in his mind.

_I love you_.

_I love you, Linka_.

He sighed. He hoped someday he'd manage to say it out loud.


	13. Chapter 13

_Rough one. Really had to wrestle with it. Also, I got distracted by planning the perfect bracket. This one's definitely angsty, with a few twists and turns. I wish I could get these out faster, but it's ready when it's ready. _

Chapter XIII_  
_

The trip to Africa was long, despite the Geo Cruiser's powerful, yet clean-burning engines. Halfway over the Atlantic Ocean, Kwame called back to Ma-Ti to take over piloting the craft. He was still weary from the flight between Hope Island and Washington, DC, and the second trip in close succession was weighing on him.

As the other man took the controls – with an amiable, yet slightly drowsy, sound of assent – Kwame settled into the co-pilot's seat and allowed himself to rest his eyes.

In his mind, he tried to methodically put everything into place. He'd never been one for letting logic dictate his every move, but he had also learned to temper his impulses with a few breaths to clear his thoughts. The others counted on him to remain cool, yet assertive. If not for him, they would have one Planeteer acting on her impulses, one frustrated _and_ acting on his impulses, one relying on her logical sensibilities so much that it stunted her reaction to unforeseen events, and one feeling too sorry for the people around him to make a choice.

And without them, he reflected, he'd be frozen in place, hesitant about whether his judgment was for good or ill. It was their trust in him that let him be the leader.

So Kwame thought. He thought about strategy. He thought about politics. He thought about the African sun, baking the soil around his village as a child. He thought about the stories the medicine men and oracles had taught him. He thought about good and evil, wrestling like a lion with its prey. He wondered which was which.

And finally, he wondered no more, and slept.

By time Ma-Ti nudged him into wakefulness, the sun was brightening the African shoreline. It was time to get down to business.

"Mfuto," he said, turning back from the seat to see the man behind him, "We will be arriving in less than an hour."

Mfuto nodded, slowly, gravely, before contemplatively looking down at his hands in his lap. He would not fail them again.

A thud against the Cruiser made all three men gasp. The vehicle shook in the air, sending them lurching in all directions. "Ma-Ti!" shouted Kwame, over the sounds of warning bells from the console, "what is going on? What happened?"

The younger man's face was strained as he struggled to regain control of the aircraft. "I do not know! Something has hit us!"

Mfuto leaned out of his seat to get a view out the window. He saw a large crowd on the ground, apparently watching their craft. Suddenly, there was another jolt. A horrifying realization set in. "They are shooting at us!"

"What?!" cried Ma-Ti. "Why?"

"This is a war zone, Ma-Ti!" Mfuto explained. "Chad has become part of the Darfur war zone. Refugees are terrified that the Janjaweed are at their border, ready to wipe out the camps as they wiped out the people in Darfur."

"Things have gotten worse here," said Kwame, bracing himself as Ma-Ti wrestled with the controls. "Now they do not trust anyone. This will be more difficult than I imagined."

Ma-Ti breathed a sigh of relief as the Cruiser leveled out. "I think we are OK, my friends…"

A third shot hit the plane, knocking out several of the wing's solar panels. The engines cut on the left side, and the Cruiser tipped forward, picking up speed.

Ma-Ti sucked his breath in as he pulled back on the controls hard. Beads of sweat trickled from his forehead and he grunted with the effort.

"Just a little longer, Ma-Ti!" coaxed Kwame, standing unsteadily and balancing himself against his seat. He raised his ring. "Just another second…"

The craft's nose inched up as Ma-Ti pulled back with all his strength. It was just enough. "Earth!"

The crag sprung from the land at an angle, allowing Ma-Ti to hit it under the nose instead of a full-on frontal collision. They would be all right.

Mfuto sat behind them, speaking prayers to his gods in Swahili. His eyes were closed.

Ma-Ti sighed and leaned back against the pilot's seat, exhausted. "Thank-you, my friend."

Kwame nodded, then turned back to Mfuto. "It is OK. We made it."

Mfuto hesitantly opened his eyes before giving a thankful look to the heavens.

The three men climbed out of the Cruiser to survey the damage. The wing would need repairs and the underbelly was dented, but easily repaired. _Good old Geo Cruiser_, thought Ma-Ti fondly. _It is still holding up well_.

Mfuto had made his way to the refugee camp. It was worse than he had remembered. Half the people were projecting a violent display of authority. They pushed whoever was in their way and took whatever they wanted. The other half was listless, despondent. They sat blankly on the sand, completely detached from the anger boiling around them. Most of them no longer bothered to brush the flies from their faces. The dead were no longer buried in reverent, solemn graves; now, decaying flesh baked in the hot morning sun, filling the entire camp with a putrescent odor.

_Worse_, thought Mfuto. _Much, much worse_.

He strode purposefully toward one fierce-looking boy –for he was certainly not yet a man, despite the rifle strapped to his back – and looked him over. His name was Kirabi. Mfuto remembered sheltering the boy and his parents in the first wave of refugees.

The boy, for his part, merely stood still, regarding the new arrivals with disdain. His machismo was betrayed by the bones protruding under his skin along his shoulders. A dying, desperate young man. A most dangerous young man.

"What were you doing?" Mfuto demanded of him, aware of the crowd that was gathering around them. "Why would you shoot at us?"

The boy shrugged. "We did not know who you were, Mfuto. The Janjaweed have been gaining strength. If they come to this camp with their weapons and might, we will all be destroyed."

Ma-Ti joined Mfuto. "Do the Janjaweed have planes like ours?"

Kirabi's eyes glanced at the broken craft on the hill, then back at Ma-Ti. "No. But we do not know what they are capable of. I apologize for damaging your ship, but it was a precaution. At the camp, we shoot first, ask questions later."

Kwame's brow furrowed. "A ridiculous policy. You risk innocent lives."

Kirabi sniffed. He walked towards Kwame, his stature making him appear larger than his pubescent height. "I _save_ innocent lives. My people, our women, our children – they are the innocent lives. And I will do what I must to protect them from the Janjaweed…"

The boy trailed off as he noticed the sound of aircraft overhead. He glared, wild-eyed at Kwame, Ma-Ti, and Mfuto. How could he have been so stupid? "You have brought them to find us!" he roared, aiming his gun to the sky.

The three men were quickly seized as Kirabi followed the planes with the barrel of his gun. "No!" cried Kwame, "no, they are here to help you! We are here to help you!"

"Lies!"

"No, Kirabi," pleaded Mfuto. "He tells you the truth. They are planes from organizations that will help the Darfur refugees. Please, please believe me!"

As Kirabi's finger flirted with the trigger of his rifle, no one noticed Ma-Ti's almost silent command. "Heart."

He reached out to the boy, searching for the reassurance he needed. It was not hard to find the source. "Do not be afraid," Ma-Ti coaxed, repeating the statement over and over in his mind as he reached to Kirabi. "Do not be afraid."

Slowly, the gun lowered. Kirabi looked at the three with astonishment. He did not know how, but something about the visitors made him feel calm. Bewildered, he gave a slight nod to the men holding them hostage, and they relinquished.

Kwame heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Now," he began, "let us sort this out without any more violence. Agreed?"

Kirabi glared. He swayed in place almost imperceptivity for a moment, hands absently tapping against his rifle. He nodded. "Agreed."

The NGO planes were beginning to land, and volunteers began to file out, carrying armfuls of supplies, medicines, tools. The refugees still looked at them warily, but they did not attack them.

A young woman approached them, introducing herself as the representative for Medecins Sans Frontieres. She politely asked who was in charge. Mfuto gestured towards Kirabi, and the representative quickly began to give him her plans on how to improve their situation.

Kirabi felt blind-sided. This woman (a _woman!_) was trying to tell him how best to run this camp? Had he not begun training to fight since he was a child? Was he not part of the last defense against the Janjaweed? Was he not in charge? And this woman offered – what? Pity. Charity. Humiliation. "We do not need your aid!" he raged. "Mr. Plunder has been providing this camp with funds to keep us from starvation!"

"Starvation?" Mfuto asked pointedly. "Look around you. People are barely above starvation. They are destroying one another. Plunder has offered you nothing but continued reliance on his money. These people will give you the opportunity to choose a destiny for yourselves."

"We will help you with medical treatment," the woman joined in. "We will help you dig wells. You will be able to create whatever employment opportunities you wish."

"And," said Ma-Ti quietly, "you will not need to rely on Plunder. You will not need to sacrifice your children to him."

The young man considered this information silently. He had not liked Plunder, had not liked seeing little children sent away by their desperate parents. For they had been desperate, every one of them. And now, there was a chance to be independent? Kirabi was not sure. He gazed around, watching a young mother with a baby at her breast was examined by a kind-looking doctor. Perhaps there was a chance. "All right. We will work with you."

Kwame nodded. "And Plunder?"

Kirabi looked to where Plunder's camp had been. "He will not be welcome here anymore."

Mfuto grinned. It was the first joyful feeling he had felt since his wife and daughter's death. "Kirabi," he called, as the young man walked away with the representative, "do you remember a little girl named Ashra?"

Kirabi nodded.

"Do you know where I might find her mother? We have been caring for the child, but her place is with her mother."

A grave look clouded the young man's face. "She died from sleeping sickness," he said. "She died shortly after news of her husband's death in Darfur." And he walked away.

XXXXX

Linka looked at her watch. 5:55. Good. She was in time.

She walked through the door of the hotel, glancing at the sleepy overnight staff as she walked through the lobby. She had been fortunate to find a safe, well-lit area to complete her early-morning run. The receptionist had looked at her like she was crazy when she asked about a jogging route at 4:15 in the morning, and for a moment she had panicked, thinking exercise might be impossible. The salmon dinner she had successfully picked at the previous night churned in her stomach as the receptionist pored over a map of the surrounding area.

In the end, she directed Linka to a 3-mile loop, which she completed three times before heading back. She passed by the elevator and headed for the stairs to their 5th floor rooms.

Calculation. That was what her life had been reduced to. Wake up _now_. Run _now_. Eat _now_. Pretend to eat _now_. In a way, it was the simplest choice she could have made. The most logical, most rational. And it had distracted her from thinking about Wheeler, that was certain.

She reached the top of the stairs and turned the corner – and ran smack into Gi. The Thai girl gave Linka a strange look. _Dyer'mo_. "Gi," she said, trying in vain to seem nonchalant, "what are you doing up?"

"_Me_?" Gi asked incredulously, "_I_ was with Ashra. She's never been in a hotel and she's been bouncing off the walls since 5 a.m." She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, glaring at her blushing friend. "The question, Linka, is what the hell are you doing? Where were you?"

Linka shrugged as calmly as she could. "I went for a walk. I could not sleep."

Gi sighed, rolling her eyes for good measure. "Oh, bullshit, Linka. You may be bright, but you're an awful liar. Walk, my ass. Why'd you go running at 5 in the morning?"

The blonde looked down, thoroughly unable to meet her best friend's eyes. "I wanted to be sure I would have time. I did not want it hanging under my head all day."

"Over your head. So why the sneaking around? Why not just say that?"

"I just – I just thought…"

"You thought we would think it was weird, right?"

Linka looked up at that. "Yes."

"Well, guess what. It _is _weird. You used to do 30 kilometers a week. Now, what is it, 60? 70?" Gi shook her head in disbelief. "What is wrong with you? Why are you doing this?"

Linka felt her temper start to flare. "I do not need your permission, Gi. It is my choice how to maintain my health." And she pushed past to get to her room.

"So, exactly how healthy is barely eating anything?" Gi's question came from behind her, but Linka defiantly shut her door.

XXXXX

Bleak opened the door to Plunder's suite at 6 a.m. Peering at him from the hallway was a well-coiffed, Armani-suited, brightly grinning young man. "Good morning, sunshine," smiled Rick.

The big man grunted in response as Rick walked in. Bloody morning people.

"And a good morning to you, Rick," came a voice from the kitchen room of the suite. "Would you like some coffee?"

Rick rounded the corner to see Plunder pouring from the hotel's coffee pot. "Nope," he responded. "Never touch the stuff."

Bleak gave another grunt and brushed by him to fill up his thermos.

"I was thinking," Rick began, once Plunder had filled his cup, "that we should go over the plan for the hearing."

"Excellent idea," said Plunder. He watched Rick flip through his neatly-organized, leather bound portfolio.

"Let's see," Rick mused. "We need to discredit the Planet-brats. What can we say to turn the Congress against them?"

"Besides the fact that they are insufferable?" offered Plunder.

"You're too nice, Mr. Plunder," chimed Bleak, refilling his thermos already. "I'd just call them a bleedin' pain in the arse."

"That is so helpful, Bleak," grinned Rick. "I'm sure that Congress will be won over if they know our opposition is a pain in the ass. Thank you so much."

Bleak sneered at Rick's smug grin. "That's 'bleedin' pain in the arse'. Get it right, ya wank."

Rick's smile faded. "Right, well, the magic word 'liberal' comes to mind here. Works like a charm. I mean, you couldn't possibly imagine how many victories I've had simply by calling the other guy a liberal."

"Six," supplied Plunder. "I've been keeping track."

The senator colored at that comment. "So that'll work well. And we so thoroughly decimated Kyoto and global warming initiatives that any connection these kids have with those issues will seem inane."

"There's the sovereignty argument," Plunder pointed out. "You can't expect a congress that sagely backed away from the ICC to be willing to turn American enterprise over to the jurisdiction of a group made up of one of us and four LTAs."

Rick looked up quizzically. "LTAs?"

"My own acronym, Rick. Less Than Americans."

The senator chuckled. "Ouch. And if I've done my research, one of these kids is from Thailand, where they just had a coup…"

Plunder nodded. "Correct."

"…and one's from Russia."

"Yes," smiled Plunder. "A former communist."

"Beautiful. So we just have to let Congress know that an industrialist, trying to improve the African economic situation in the great American tradition, is being harassed by a corps of _liberal_, anti-capitalistic, immature _non_-Americans," he looked up. "Is that right?"

"Well, they have _one_ American," Plunder conceded. "But he's an ignorant hot-head. He's trash." His cell phone rang and he held up a hand to Rick as he picked it up. "Plunder here. Mfuto, my good man. Do you have news for me?"

Rick re-organized his papers as he listened to Plunder's end of the call. "I see. I see. Your work is appreciated Mfuto. You will be well compensated. Good bye."

Rick raised his eyebrows. "Good news?"

Plunder nodded. "He's back in Africa. He says we have the opportunity to make a killing."

XXXXX

The laptop screen was hurting her eyes.

Linka blinked. She had been reading about industrial regulation and American political precedents for two hours in preparation for their hearing. Not light reading, to be sure, but she seemed to remember having more stamina than this. She finished her article and gave herself permission for a break.

Her stomach growled. Linka sighed. She had only had black coffee this morning. It would be humiliating to have her stomach grumbling all day. She imagined preparing to speak in front of Congress, taking her first breath…and letting the legislators know just how hungry she was.

She grabbed a banana from the suite refrigerator and ate it slowly, breaking it into tiny chunks. She washed it down with a large cup of water and then headed to the rest room.

Linka emerged minutes later, feeling relieved, empty and energized. As she settled back in to continue reading, there was a knock at the door. "Yes?" she called.

The head that poked its way into the room did not surprise her at all. "What do you want, Yankee?"

He shrugged, closing the door and heading over to the desk where she was reading. "Just checking in. Gi sent me up here to see how the research was going."

Linka pursed her lips. "Why would Gi assume I needed someone to check on my research?"

Wheeler shook his head. She was so defensive. "I don't know, babe. She probably just wanted some time with Kim. The kid finally settled down to take a nap and she was clearing everyone else out. What's the big deal?"

She did not say anything. As she fought eyestrain, she could not help notice Wheeler scrutinizing her. Linka pulled her knees up and folded her arms, wishing she could disappear from his view. Finally she glared back at him. "What?"

"Nothing," he responded, continuing to watch her. "So, what are you reading about?"

"Precedents."

"What," he smiled, "like Washington and Lincoln?"

"No, not that – "

"Not that kind. I get it. Like court cases. Geez, Linka, I'm not that big a dope!"

That brought the hint of a smile to her lips. "I am sorry. Why do you not tell me exactly how big a dope you are?"

He chuckled. "Pretty big. Listen, babe. I know we've got a lot of work ahead of us this week. This whole deal in Darfur has been rough on everyone. I propose that we declare a truce this week."

She raised her eyebrows. "Truce?"

"Yeah, it's when two people who were fighting decide – "

"Wheeler! I am not that big a dope!"

"Nah, just a little one." He smiled at her for a moment before reaching over to touch her shoulder.

She pulled away slightly, but not quickly enough to escape the concern that quickly spread across his features.

Wheeler gaped at her. Her shoulder felt very bony. Skeletal. When did this happen? "Linka, what did you do to yourself?"

She cringed at his words. As he continued to stare, she stood up and backed away. Self-consciously, she looked out the window. "Nothing. There is nothing wrong, Yankee."

"Nothing wrong? _Nothing wrong_?!" He jumped up and grabbed her by the shoulders, spinning her around roughly. "What is it? Are you sick?" She continued to avert her eyes until he grabbed her chin and forced her to look in his eyes. "Goddammit, Linka! There's something wrong! And whether you give a fuck or not, I care about you! Tell me what's wrong!"

Wheeler felt his cell phone buzz in his pocket. He released Linka, but pinned her with a furious gaze. "Think about it. Think about telling me the truth. You have until the end of this call."

As he walked away from her to answer his call, Linka did think about it. She thought about telling him how hard it was hearing him make plans with that girl two months ago. Thought about telling him how she missed him that night. Thought about baring her secrets – the running, the food, the purging – that were weighing so harshly on her. Thought about telling him she did not know how to stop.

Wheeler emerged from the other room and headed for the suite door. "Where are you going?" asked Linka.

He turned to her. "That was – it was a friend from New York. She got picked up on drug charges. She needs me to bail her out of jail." And he left.

After the door closed, Linka sank back down on the sofa. She felt the tears coming, and this time, she did not have the strength to stop them.

_Always darkest before the sun, gentle readers..._

_-Macushla_


	14. Chapter 14

_I have been enjoying some of the recent posts, so I thought I would give this another try. Couple of things… I was teaching about Reconstruction recently and was reminded that _

_Hoggish Greedly is a namesake. Had completely forgotten. Way to go, history teacher. Also, before I get people telling me "(imagine Comic Book Guy voice here) Excuse me, but _

_you wrote that Linka addresses the Vice President as the President and we all know she would not be that stupid! Thank you!" Yeah, the Vice President is the president of the _

_Senate. He gets to cast the deciding vote if the senatorial vote is 50-50. So be nice; I haven't done this in a while. And on that note, away we go…_

Chapter XIV  
How dare she?

Wheeler smacked the heel of his hand against the steering wheel of the Prius he had rented for the journey to New York. He couldn't remember the last time he was this mad. Even  
angrier than when he saw that dress she poured herself into for the Audubon party. 

But that had been jealousy, plain and simple. And as he was petulantly patching the hole he had put in the hut, he had known, deep down, that he was not really mad at Linka. The point of those charity functions was to get the wealthy _noblesse oblige _to open their wallets a little wider. And if gazing at a lovely young lady in a revealing dress was going to do it, well, he could not imagine a better candidate than Linka.

Still, he had been jealous. It was an emotion he tried to keep in check, knowing full well that his little hissy fits over the myriad men who admired Linka were not impressing her at all. Although, he had to admit, _her_ occasional jealous rages amused him to no end.

But the anger he felt now was much more consuming. Because it was not over some prick ogling her. That was nothing new. This thing – this thing was new.

How dare she? How dare she keep this from him? Wheeler bit his lip hard as the parade of possible explanations for her weight loss proceeded in his mind. Was it the flu? Could she simply have the flu and all this was over something that could be cured with a few days' rest and Ma-Ti's herbal antidotes?

Or, was it worse? Cancer? Wheeler sucked in a breath. Shit.

_If that's it_, he thought, _then I'm done. I'm walking away. I can't watch her go through that_…

But it had happened so fast. Surely Ma-Ti would have been attuned to something like cancer. And if not him, then Gaia. Why would Gaia keep something so serious from them…from _him_? She wouldn't. No way.

But what else could be wrong? Could it simply be exhaustion? They had been pressing a little hard recently – frequent flights, hopping continents, taking care of the kid. That was a lot for anyone, even a Planeteer. But they had been worn out before. There were missions after which he slept for two days straight. He had watched his friends step up time and time again, giving everything they had to fight polluters and criminals. A lot to ask of college-aged kids, to be sure. And he could remember those long flights back to Hope Island, everyone battling exhaustion like it was any other villain. He seemed to remember carrying Linka into the hut on a few rare occasions too…

Seemed to remember. Yeah, like he'd forget that…

But, again, this was different. This had never happened before. He was sure of it. He of all people would know if Linka's body looked different, that was for goddamn sure.

So where did that leave him? The Lincoln Tunnel closed in around him as Wheeler turned over a horrific possibility in his mind.

Was she doing it to herself on purpose?

"Don't be stupid," he told himself out loud, over the hum of traffic passing him. Why would a bright girl like Linka intentionally hurt herself? It was just ridiculous. Girls with those kinds of problems came from broken homes and had no friends. Girls like that could not find boyfriends. They were trying to get attention. They were rebelling against their parents, or were ditzy cheerleaders who were dumb enough to believe it when other girls told them they were too fat.

Not exactly the scenario he would associate with a computer-savvy Russian who had stood toe-to-toe with some of the worst eco-villains in the world.

Wheeler put his internal discussion on hold as he pulled up to the jail. Other problems were at hand.

After he had filled out the paperwork and paid the bail, Wheeler waited uncomfortably in the lobby. He had not been to this place in quite a while, not since he was little. His dad had been picked up on a DUI when he was five or six. His mother, having no extra money for a sitter, had taken him along to bail his father out. He remembered the walls being bathed in the same muted yellow light under which he now sat. As a kid, he had been scared to be there, watching all the other people waiting to see incarcerated loved ones.

When his father was finally freed, he had not been grateful to see his family. Wheeler remembered lying on his bed, listening to the sounds grow louder and louder as the pair fought below.

"Ya bring the kid to see his old man in jail? What is it, Katherine, ya want him to think I'm a bum?

"No," came his mother's shaky reply, "please quiet down, he'll hear you…"

"Ya think I give a shit? He already thinks I'm a criminal, thanks to you. So what if he hears me?"

"_Please_, Jay, keep your voice down!"

"Shut up!" The sound of the slap resonated through the small apartment. Wheeler hid his head under the pillow and imagined he was worlds away…

Just then, he saw Rachel making her way down the corridor. Her head hung low and her face was streaked where she had cried off her make-up. She did not look like the same girl who had hugged him good-bye.

She picked up her head as she neared him and smiled weakly. "Hey."

Wheeler smiled back, standing up from the uncomfortable metal seat. "Hey. How're you doing?"

She shrugged and looked back down at the floor. "Okay, I guess. Could be better. You?"

"Me?" He stretched, trying to un-crimp his spine. "I'm fantastic."

Rachel chuckled lightly. "Yeah, I bet. Listen, thanks for bailing me. I just had no one else to call. I guess I figured I could count on you."

"Don't mention it."

"No, I'm gonna mention it." She placed a hand against his face and looked him in the eye. "This was big-time, Wheeler. I'm not going to forget it. You're a decent guy, you know that? A real decent guy."

He smiled down at her and put an arm around her, pulling her in for a little hug. "Thanks, Rach. Come on, let's get outta here. You want a coffee? My treat."

She gave a grateful smile. "That would be absolutely awesome."

XXXXX

The Senate chamber was huge. Gi had seen it on C-Span a couple of times, but she had never appreciated the size of the place. For a room that was only really necessary for a hundred people, it definitely could hold a lot more. She fingered her evidence folder nervously and eyed Kim.

He was nervous, too. And he had done this kind of thing before. That said something. He was looking around at all the well-dressed senators, shaking hands and milling around the floor. It was intimidating. Gi grabbed his hand and looked behind her, waiting for Linka to return from the ladies' room.

"I wonder where she is," Gi mused, a concerned look crossing her brown eyes.

Kim put his arm around her. "Just pulling herself together, I guess. She's probably pretty nervous too. This is a lot to deal with. Give her a couple of more minutes."

Gi sighed deeply and tried to steady her nerves. "Yeah, you're right. I'm just getting antsy. I want to go in there and take Plunder down hard. Do you see him?"

Kim strained to look around the chamber to catch a glimpse of the businessman. "No, not yet." He scowled. "I bet he's waiting to make a grand entrance."

"Definitely," Gi nodded. "I can't wait to give him a nice big exit too."

Across the hall, Linka splashed water on her face. Her purge had been painful – there had been nothing at all in her stomach for a few days. So now even her body was fighting her. _Preskrasno_. Just lovely.

She surveyed herself in the mirror, aware that Gi and Kim were probably waiting for her in the Senate Chamber. She smoothed her suit jacket, which hung loosely against her. The waistband of her skirt kept slipping down her hips, and Linka readjusted the safety pin holding it up. She sighed in frustration. _Why do they not make clothes for normal sized women_? she wondered. Would she have to start shopping in the children's section? Absurd.

As she exited the rest room, she heard Gi call to her. "There you are! We're almost ready to start. Plunder's here." She made a face. "All smug and full of himself. Oooh, I could just smack him, that son of a…"

"Gi!" Kim reproached, but laughing despite it.

They entered the chamber and prepared to give testimony, standing beside Kim's boss from Thailand. The proceedings seemed very chaotic and complicated, and Linka wished yet again that Wheeler were there, to offer explanation, to make a rude comment under his breath – anything.

But he was not. He was still away, with his…

_Vnimatel'no, _Linka. Keep control.

As the Amnesty International Director began to conclude his opening speech, Gi reached for Linka's arm. "Well, you're up, Lin! Let them have it!"  
Linka rose unsteadily to approach the microphone. She could feel the eyes of dozens of congresspersons on her. She glanced over at Plunder. He sat idly back in his chair, looking confident, almost disinterested in the whole process. The senator sitting next to him, however, sat up attentively. He smiled widely at her, to the point of condescension.

_Chort voz'mi_. She really hated being condescended.

She opened her folder and tried to steady herself with a deep breath. "Mr. President," she began, addressing the Vice President. "Esteemed congressmen and women. I would like to present evidence that SR 199 must not be allowed to become a law. I will bring to your attention that one man," she glanced pointedly at Plunder, "is being allowed to profit from its provisions in Africa. The bill will not create positive capitalism in Africa, but strip it of its resources, resulting in a backslide into dependence and mercantilism, that…"

The room suddenly started to spin before her eyes. The edges of her vision went blurry, then dark as Linka reached to steady herself on a chair. She heard a collective gasp around her, but fought to continue. "that will…destroy…children…._shto sluchaetsya_?"

After that, all was black.

XXXXX

After they had finished their coffee, Wheeler and Rachel were strolling through the city. They were talking like old friends, about what they remembered about Brooklyn growing up, about Coney Island summers. They stopped near the East River. Rachel pointed towards Manhattan.

"I used to love looking at that place," she mused. "When I was little, I thought it would be really cool to stand with one foot on each of the Twin Towers."

Wheeler laughed. "You know, I don't think you could've done it."

A wistful look came across the girl's face. "Really can't now, can I?"

"No."

They stood silently for a second, the sadness that only two New Yorkers could share hanging between them. Rachel spoke first. "Where were you that day?"

Wheeler looked off into the distance, his blue eyes reflecting the guilt he felt being so far away from home when tragedy had struck. "Hope Island. We got back late the night before, from South America. I was still asleep when Kwame came in to wake me up. I was so tired; I told him to get the hell out! But he was like, 'Get up. You have to see this.'"

He breathed deeply and looked down. Rachel shuffled closer to him, putting a hand on his arm. "I couldn't believe it. I just stood there, in shock. The others were there too. Linka, she was crying, and she doesn't cry for nothing. And that made me break down…" He cleared his throat, embarrassed by the tears now threatening in his eyes.

Rachel hugged him and he pulled her close. "It must have been hard," she said, "being away from home like that. And it must have sucked to be with people who weren't even American, who couldn't really understand…"

"That's not fair," Wheeler protested, "it wasn't that they didn't understand. They're my friends. But I get your point. I guess part of me did just want to be with my family here in the U.S."

"Well," Rachel smiled, lifting her head to look in his eyes, "I'm glad you're here now. And I'm glad you were there for me tonight."

"So, you're dealing?" His voice was grim.

"No!"

"Rachel," he looked at her admonishingly, "you don't get taken in for usable amount. The bail I paid was definitely intent to distribute. I'm not an idiot."

She rolled her eyes. So that was back again, Wheeler thought. "Look," she began, taking his hands in hers, "maybe you don't know what it's like to live in the real world. Real world people have problems, Wheeler."

"No shit. I watched a little girl in Africa get taken by a bunch of men who raped her. You think I don't know about the real world and its problems?"

"Yeah, but here in the U.S. we need money to get by. And sometimes we need to get it in ways that aren't so pretty. Or did you forget that, living on your little island?"

Wheeler bit his lip to keep from really letting loose on her. "Then get a job. Do something constructive with your life. Because this…this isn't constructive. This is lame." He stood back from her. "Sorry if that hurts."

She stared at him, her dark eyes taking him in as she silently considered his words. Suddenly, she leaned in and kissed him hard on the lips.

_I think I'll leave it like that. Boy, I'm really beating them up, am I not? Stick with me. The angst-fest continues_


	15. Chapter 15

_Nothing. Just story._

Chapter XV

Kirabi surveyed the situation with authority, although he could feel his authority slipping away with every passing day.

The predicament as oppressive – his power had only grown as more and more people had died. The quieting of life in the refugee camp, however, was on one hand a glorious blessing; he had had enough of death. They said that once a man has killed another man, the next would become easier, and the next, easier still. And once life was so dark, it was hard to decipher more darkness falling.

A glorious blessing. But still – Kirabi's jaw tightened – he now felt worthless. Impotent.

The shorter man with long hair was approaching him. Kirabi sniffed. Long hair on a man. It looked effeminate.

"Kirabi!" he called, waving him towards the medical tent.

_More orders_, thought Kirabi. adjusting the safety on his rifle. The other man waited for him, a sincere look on his face.

"Please, we need your help."

Kirabi did not bother to hide the scoff that emerged from his lips. "My help? Your female has been making my decisions for me!" He gestured to the MSF worker, innocently inoculating a wailing child against malaria inside the tent.

Ma-Ti raised his eyebrows. "Would you like to give the needles to the babies?"

The other man blanched, as Ma-Ti predicted. Kirabi was not a fan of hypodermics. "Of course not! Men do not tend to children!"

"You're right," Ma-Ti nodded. "That is not your work. Your people do not need more nurses right now. They need a leader."

Ma-Ti put a hand on Kirabi's shoulder and led him to the cliff that overlooked the camp. "Before we got here, people were dying. They know they were dying. It was frightening, but inevitable. Your people were content to die, my friend. They had accepted death and had grown tired of being terrified of it.

"But now," Ma-Ti continued, sensing Kirabi had digested his comments, "now they are even more afraid. Now they do not know what lies ahead of them. Their deaths are no longer inevitable and the future is uncertain. This can lead to panic and chaos. Now they need you as a leader, one who will keep them safe and healthy after Kwame, Mfuto, and I leave."

Kirabi was silent for a moment. "You are leaving?" he asked quietly, sounding simultaneously like a weary old man and the scared seventeen-year-old that he was.

Ma-Ti nodded, recognizing the responsibility he was placing on the boy's shoulders. "Yes, my friend. We must meet with African Union leaders to be certain that Plunder will not exploit your people again. With him out of the way, good businesspeople can work with you to sustain yourselves. You can create your own businesses. Follow your own destinies."

XXXXX

Meanwhile –

_Whoa – what am I doing?_

The thought struck Wheeler about a second after Rachel had planted her lips on him. He pulled back, but the girl's grasp was fairly strong. She was clinging to him as if he were the last lifesaver on the Titanic. He gently disengaged her arms from his neck. "C'mon, Rach, don't do this," he said as mildly as possible.

She stepped back from him and blinked. "What's wrong, Wheeler?" she asked, full of innocence.

"We talked about his," Wheeler reminded her. "I just don't feel that way. I'm really, really sorry."

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, right. You're sorry. You were right there with me, Wheeler. I know you felt it too. We're cut from the same cloth. We'd be so good together."

Wheeler sighed heavily, looking into the girl's dark, angry eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."

Eyeroll. On cue. "Well, too bad. You did. Do you know how it feels to be rejected by someone you really like?"

"As a matter of fact…"

"Bullshit! You don't know! You don't know anything! How can you be all nice to me, tell me that you care about me and want me to stop dealing, then brush me off? It's not fair!"

"No," he confirmed, "it's not."

Rachel shrugged dramatically. "What does that mean? What the hell does that mean, Wheeler? You've got that other girl on your mind, that's what it is. She's been on your mind for years, right? Guess what, ginger kid, it ain't gonna happen."

Wheeler stood still, not dignifying her words with a response. Especially when her words cut so close to the bone.

And yet, she continued. "You're like some dumb kid who keeps following the ice cream truck, and no matter how many times the driver tells you he's out, you keep following anyway. And here I am, your nutty-buddy-chocolate-éclair-astropop, all rolled into one."

Wheeler let out a chuckle at that. The girl was good with the metaphors.

"So, what do you say?" Rachel asked, clearly encouraged by his laugher. She took his hand.

Wheeler smiled. "Come on. I'll give you a lift home. Then I've got a six-hour drive ahead of me."

Rachel opened her mouth, then closed it. "You're going back?"

"Yeah. They're gonna need me for the second day of testimony. If Gi and Lin haven't mopped the floor with Plunder already."

Wheeler began to walk, leaving a clearly miffed Rachel to hang back behind him. "Son of a bitch," she muttered, then ran to catch up with him. Who the hell did he think he was? He was going to leave her, just like that? She dug her hands into her jeans pockets and felt a tiny plastic bag, folded tightly and buried in the crevice of her pocket. The cops had missed it!

Rachel's face spread into a smile as she caught up to Wheeler. "Hey, if it's ok, will you drop me on 50th? I wanna catch up with some friends."

Wheeler nodded. "Sure," he said, relieved that she was not holding a grudge. "Got some big plans?"

She shrugged and linked her arm in his, her fingers brushing the pocket of his jacket. "You never know."

XXXXX

Meanwhile –

Gi sat in the hospital waiting room, the television showing the ugly sight that had transpired about an hour earlier.

A shot of Linka wavering, then hitting the floor hard. A shot of Kim checking her pulse, then lifting and carrying her out of the chamber. A shot of congressmen and women, clearly shocked at the turn of events. "So, again," the anchorwoman said, with a sympathetic tilt to her head, "a young woman, apparently a member of the liberal environmental group the Planeteers, passed out while delivering testimony on a bill in Senate. Deliberation has been delayed, and the woman was taken to D.C. General, where she is in critical condition tonight."

Gi turned away from the screen. "Those vultures," she said to Kim, who was reclining in a nearby chair. "They didn't give a damn about our testimony before. Now, since Linka fainted, they're all over it!"

Kim regarded her solemnly. "That's the media, hon," he stated simply. "Always in search of more ratings, anything to bring in the viewers. They're guaranteed more people will watch a Planeteer go down than a bunch of old guys talking about some bill."

"Not taking into account that somebody actually is suffering in all this," Gi pointed out.

"Nope. In fact, they're probably pretty happy about it."

Gi shook her head. "Has the world gone insane?"

He considered that. "Probably."

Gi was about to unleash another volley against the media when a doctor in a white coat emerged and headed in their direction. He was young – probably in his young 30s and his face was concerned. Not good, thought Gi.

"I'm Dr. Matthews, " he said, extending his hand to greet Gi and Kim. "I've been monitoring your friend's progress."

"How is she?" asked Gi, dismayed by his tone of voice.

"I'm afraid she is in a coma," Dr. Matthews said, holding Gi's frightened gaze.

Kim's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"How is she in a coma?" Gi gasped, sitting down under the weight of the shock.

"Well," Dr. Matthews began, "her heart is in a fairly weakened state. It seems as though it does not have the strength to keep up with the demands she has placed on her body. We have also isolated some blood in her esophogas, which we have stemmed. Her body has simply shut down. We are doing all we can to…"

"Wait," interrupted Gi. This was a lot of information to cope with. "Her heart is weak. How is that possible? I mean, she's only twenty-one years old! She runs every single day!"

"Well, that probably has something to do with it," responded the doctor. "At such a low weight, the body can only deal with so much."

Kim stared at the doctor and adjusted his arm around Gi's shoulders. "How low is her weight?"

"We've stabilized her at 92 pounds. That's about 20 pounds below her ideal weight range."

The shock again hit Gi square in the gut. All the running, the refusal to eat – why had she let it go on?

"And," the doctor continued, "she was purging on a regular basis, we believe. That is what caused the bleeding, not to mention significantly weakened her heart."

"Purging?" Gi's voice was little more than a whisper.

"What does that mean?" asked Kim.

"It means," said Gi, with despair setting in, "it means that she was throwing up. God, why didn't I see it? She was always running to the rest room. It was so obvious!" She began to cry, bitterly. She had missed it. She was supposed to be Linka's best friend and she had missed it.

"It's ok," said Kim, wrapping his arms around her. He turned to the doctor. "What can we do? When will she recover?"

Dr. Matthews scratched his head. "I don't know. We're doing all we can. We just have to be patient, get those nutrients back in her body. I'll be in touch." And with that, he walked away.

Kim looked down at Gi, who still had her arms around his waist. Her eyes were closed and she was concentrating hard on something. "What are you doing?"

"Telling Ma-Ti. They've got to get back here. And so does Wheeler. God knows how he's going to take this."

XXXXX

Traffic had slowed to a crawl as Wheeler and Rachel approached 50th street. Wheeler strained to see what was causing the backup. His impatience was starting to get the better of him. "What's going on?"

Rachel, too, tried to glimpse the source. "I don't know," she said, innocently.

The flashing lights ahead made Wheeler lean back in the driver's seat. "Ah. DUI checkpoint. I should've known."

As they approached the weary-yet-strict-looking police officers, Wheeler began to rummage in his pocket for his driver's license. He still wasn't using the wallet his mother had sent him for his last birthday, opting instead for using his familiar "seek and find" method for locating his belongings. "It's got to be in here somewhere…"

_Wheeler_!

Wheeler grunted, edging the car closer to the checkpoint. _Little busy right now, Ma-Ti_.

_Get back to D.C. It's Linka. She is in a coma_.

Wheeler's world froze.

"How are you doing tonight, sir?" A tall officer was peering into his window. "What's that?"

Wheeler, feeling as though he were moving in slow motion, looked down at his hand. To his surprise, he was holding a plastic bag of some sort. "I – I –"

Rachel bit her lip. That would teach him to reject her.

"Sir," the officer said sternly. "Step out of the vehicle."

The overwhelming emotions were taking over Wheeler's higher brain functions and he could feel tears beginning to slide down his cheeks. "Oh, God. But – but I don't know how…Please – I've got to get back to her…"

"Wheeler," Rachel leaned over to him, her eyes wide, "you're crying?"

He could barely breathe now as he finally managed to open the car door. How could this be happening? He needed to get back. Linka needed him. Oh, God. "Please," he pleaded, whether to the officer or to Rachel, he was not sure. "She's – she's in a coma. I have to get back. I have to be with her." The tears were falling freely now. He felt dizzy.

Rachel blinked, watching the officer snatch the bag from Wheeler's hand as he pleaded his innocence. He was begging the officer to let him go, desperate to get out of there. She felt a strange sensation creeping into her. Maybe she had underestimated the effect this would have on him. She watched as his panic grew. "She needs me," he was saying. "She needs me."

Was it possible, thought Rachel, that he was actually in love with that girl?

"Stop."

Wheeler and the police officer turned around at Rachel's insistent statement. She slowly stepped out of the car. "It's mine."

The officer glared at her. "What?"

She ignored Wheeler's shocked gaze and continued. "It's mine. I put it in his pocket. He had nothing to do with it."

"Is that true?" the officer asked.

Rachel sighed deeply. The prospect of returning to jail was suddenly becoming all too real. "Yeah. I found it in my pocket and I didn't want to go back to jail. Plus," she looked up at Wheeler briefly, "I was pissed at him."

The officer took a moment to look at both of them, then released his grip on Wheeler. "All right. You're free to go. Miss, you'll have to come with me." And he cuffed her.

Wheeler took a good, long look at the girl as he made his way back to the hybrid. "Rachel…"

She shook her head. "You don't have to thank me."

He choked back a laugh. "Don't worry. I won't. That was pretty low."

She sucked in a breath, stung. "Yeah, well, just get out of here," she said. "Your girl needs you."

XXXXX

Wheeler pulled up to the hospital in the middle of the night. What should have been a six-hour drive had taken him four and a half. The longest four and a half hours of his life.

He rushed through the door and made his way to the third floor, where he spotted Gi and Kim sitting in the waiting room. Gi spied him first. "Wheeler!" she exclaimed, running over to him and hugging him tightly. "I'm so glad you're here."

Wheeler returned her hug, feeling tears begin to form again. "How – is…"

Kim stepped forward. "She's stable," he said. "Still hasn't come out of it, though."

Wheeler swallowed with great difficulty. "What happened?"

Gi wiped tears from her dark eyes. She looked a mess, Wheeler observed. Her face was red from crying and exhaustion was clearly setting in. "She's been purging, and running, and not eating anything! God, I should have noticed! What's wrong with me? I'm her best friend!" She began to cry again, and Wheeler let Kim step in to comfort her. "She was so thin – her heart can't take it!"

Wheeler stepped back, stunned. He had known, he reflected sadly. He saw it coming. Just refused to accept it – refused to believe she could do that to herself. And now – "I have to see her."

Kim shook his head. "It after visiting hours. There's no way."

The American looked Kim in the eye. "You know, I like you Kim. No disrespect. But fuck you."

He walked past the nurses' station, where a box of doughnuts had mysteriously caught on fire, creating a cluster of activity. He slipped quietly into Linka's dark room and closed the door behind him.

She was there, looking so tiny and so thin. Wheeler's strong chin began to tremble violently as he took her hand in his and held it to his face. "Hey," he whispered, settling down beside her. "Babe, it's me. I'm back. I missed you so much."

She made no sound. The beeping of the monitor attached to her arm echoed loudly in his ears. "I'm not going anywhere. I am so…" he choked, not bothering to fight back his tears anymore, "so sorry I left you. I was just so mad. I didn't realize things were this bad for you. I wish you had told me, let me help you. God, I'd do anything for you, babe, you know that!"

He swallowed the lump in his throat, reaching to twist a lock of her blond hair around his finger. "I love you, Linka. I'm sorry I never told you before. I love you because you're brilliant and sweet and strong and you're so beautiful that it hurts sometimes. It just hurts to look at someone so beautiful…"

He sighed, feeling lighter, as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "So that's why you have to fight, Linka. That's why you have to come back. Because I can't hold this together without you. Without you, I'm just some dumb Yankee. But with you – I'm so much better. You keep me focused, babe. No one has ever made me feel this way before." He gently brushed her cheek. "I love you so, so much," he whispered.

He felt exhausted now. He stood, then leaned down to gently kiss her forehead. "I'll be right here when you wake up, I promise. I'm not leaving you again."

He headed for the door, then looked back at her once more. "_Paka_," he said.


End file.
